


The Guardian Fallacy

by SalazzleDazzle



Series: Of Crows and Coyotes [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Early City Age (Destiny), Fallen | Eliksni, Gen, OC Guardian - Freeform, Slow Burn, Warlords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazzleDazzle/pseuds/SalazzleDazzle
Summary: The Traveler's Chosen are without a doubt exceptional people. Given a second opportunity at life due to innate qualities their ghost believes will make them something for the rest of humanity to aspire to. Bravery. Fortitude. Willpower.But in the early years of the City Age, not all those resurrected answer the call to defend the Traveler. And for a new lightbearer far from the land of the Last City, the first lesson of her second life is as follows:Not all Risen are Guardians.
Series: Of Crows and Coyotes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772311
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first chapter I'm uploading from a short novella I'm working on, 'The Guardian Fallacy'. If you like it, stick around! I'll be uploading new sections a few days apart and posting them here. Give me any feedback you have in the comments section, I appreciate it.

“I’m telling you man, you’ve gotta see this.”

Gaive shouldered his backpack, trudging uphill. Tom had been radioing him constantly for the last few minutes, prompting Gaive to abandon his search for food in the forest below. Climbing up the hill felt like way too much effort, especially with the weight of supplies and his wooden rifle now slung over his arm awkwardly. Every few steps Gaive had to brace himself against the beige stone to keep his balance.

“Man, you’ve got to get up here,” Tom said, the crackling audio hurting Gaive’s right ear.

Gaive grit his teeth in annoyance, not wanting to start anything. “I can see you. Not far now.” He could probably chuck a rock and hit Tom from here, but the hill’s steepness and the sun’s blazing heat didn’t make it an easy journey.

Upon ascension, Gaive took a moment to breathe. Tom was ironically silent now, laying flat on his stomach, perched right on the crest of the hill, staring at something through his pair of binoculars. Gaive unhooked his canteen and took a swig of water, swishing it around in his mouth. He hated his lips getting chapped, and it seemed constant whenever the clan made camp anywhere this hot during summer.

Still no acknowledgement from Tom. Gaive nudged his stomach with his weathered boot, whistling in annoyance.

His fellow scout hissed in anger. “Hang on a sec,” Tom said. “It’s on the move, I’m having a difficult time tracking it.”

“Tracking what?” All Gaive could see for miles was a great prairie dotted with rocks and some more hills in the distance. Not good conditions for food, not compared to the pockets of forest found around these parts.

“Thirty degrees from due north, maybe a couple miles out,” Tom responded. “Tell me when you see it. Keeps darting in and out from beyond rocks and all them thickets of dead bush.”

Gaive set his rifle and pack down beside him, reaching inside for his own binoculars and laying down next to Tom. Gaive’s binoculars were probably the best piece of equipment he had; Bruce wanted to be sure his scouts were able to see predators or prey from a ways off. They even felt comfortable pressed against his face. It was hard to find anything that didn’t irritate the tattoos, even now, months after having his stripes colored red, denoting him as a hunter or warrior. The greatest honor in the clan. Yet here he was, still complaining about it.

Gaive adjusted the digital zoom on the binoculars, adjusting his aim to where Tom had pointed out. While scanning the area, something zipped out from behind a rock, momentarily catching the glare of the sun. Gaive tracked the object, which stopped above some wildflowers. Blue datastreams erupted from the object, seemingly combing over the flowers, before the lights disappeared and the object kept moving.

“Holy shit,” Gaive breathed, removing his binoculars. “A wild ghost.”

“Yeah. Without an owner as far as I can tell.” Tom finally tore his eyes away from the little robot to match Gaive’s gaze. Tom’s eyes were shrewd, bold enough to draw attention from the three red-stripe tattoos on his face. Gaive was always envious of that, his facial features too flat to draw attention away from his own markings. That was supposed to be the point, he supposed. He was one with the clan.

Gaive scoped back in, refocusing on the little agent of Light dart around the prairie. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re still alive, so we’re shit outta luck here. Little guy’s probably just passing through.”

“Could be,” Tom responded, “Or could be headed toward that crashed starfighter another mile up.” Gaive adjusted his binoculars again, focusing in on the ruin of a tiny ship. With what little he’d picked up from their travels, Gaive couldn’t figure out the make. Golden Age? Pre-Golden Age? Didn’t seem to match any make he’d seen, with four prongs facing away from the engine, the bottom two smashed into dust between whatever crash occurred years before and the subsequent time to rust and ruin away.

“So? What do you think?” Tom’s question cut through the speculative silence, yet still barely drew Gaive’s attention away from the ghost.

“What do you mean, what do I think?”

“Do we see what it’s up to?”

Gaive mulled it over. “We’re gonna end up showing back up to camp with no food from our shift.”

Whatever he said didn’t matter. Tom was already swinging his equipment over his back and carefully rising back to his feet. “And we’re gonna be the ones who deliver Bruce a captured Risen.” Gaive didn’t really have an option. His partner was already starting down the hill towards the prairie, making haste to catch up to the ghost.

“Easier said than done,” Gaive muttered, reluctantly following behind.

* * *

Bluejay had never seen a ship of its design. A quick scan revealed nothing in his records of Golden Age spacecraft, nor anything predating the Traveler’s arrival that he’d found in his travels. So many ruined cities, filled to the brim with ancient skeletons and horror stories. It had been terrifying the whole time.

But Bluejay had been patient. His lightbearer had to be special. He could feel the Light in so many of the long-dead bodies that he’d passed up on over the years, old souls who had the potential to become great and powerful if given the opportunity. But Bluejay wanted something more. An instinct, a knowing. Something that just felt right.

And so he had followed his tiny metal heart, scouring the Earth for something that couldn’t quite be put into words. And it had led him here. To this crashed ship in the Badlands, in the middle of nowhere.

Bluejay stretched the top bits of his shell above his core briefly as he thought, a ghost’s imitation of a shrug. The starship’s faded metallic paint bore a magenta and what might’ve once been yellow, but now seemed closer to beige. The ship was ancient and rusted, thus Bluejay ruled out it being a modern design of the Dark Age. It had to be older. His records must not have been complete.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter too much where his lightbearer came from, who they once were. They were about to be given the ultimate second chance at life. Bluejay chirped in excitement at the thought, zipping over past the ship’s exhaust ports to get a look at the front.

The connecting point between the ship’s three outer spindles was the cockpit, at the back of the ship’s central axis. The pilot had gone down with the ship, crashing hard into the prairie however long ago. Bluejay slipped through the side hatch into the cockpit, revealing a skeleton still clutching the controls. This was the strongest presence of Light Bluejay had felt since he was birthed by the Traveler. This was his lightbearer, there was no disputing the connection.

“Okay.” Bluejay hovered over the skeleton, staring at the sunken skull of his chosen one. He buzzed with nervous excitement. There could be no screwing this up. No partial reassembly, no scaring the lightbearer with grand proposals of cheating death. All these years dreaming of this moment, yet Bluejay still had no idea what to say.

He scanned the old skeleton, registering every last drop of Light within before his shell burst open, radiating energy. The cockpit, closed off for centuries, bloomed with Bluejay’s light, and in the dilapidated seat the old memory of a person congealed into something, someone, wholly new.

The lightbearer gasped for breath all of a sudden, the bright light blinding to the reborn person. She breathed for what felt like the first time in centuries, hands holding onto the cockpit’s armrests for dear life. Her eyes transfixed on the ghost as its dancing lights from the resurrection faded away. It was a strange looking creature, its top half royal blue with black stripes, the lower half a pure white. Its blue eye stared into hers, blinking in shock as its shell closed.

“Lightbearer,” Bluejay said calmly, moving bits of his shell around as he spoke. “Don’t be scared. I’m a ghost, well, your ghost. My name’s Bluejay.”

She had no name. She… she knew she was a she. But that seemed it. No memories. Only this moment, here in this tiny, enclosed space. It felt strangely familiar. But wrong, somehow.

“Hi,” she whispered, still finding her voice. “Bluejay.” She started into a fit of coughs, causing the ghost to zip around in concern. “Sorry, I just… It’s dusty.”

“No, no, that’s my bad, don’t worry, I’m sorry!” Bluejay seemed to restrain himself from pleading more apologies, letting loose some pained whirs and beeps instead. The lightbearer found this amusing for some reason that she failed to understand. Her grip on the armrests finally began to loosen.

“Where…” she started, craning her neck around to look at the small pod they were enclosed in. “What happened? What is this place?”

“You’re a new person. A new lightbearer. Given a second chance at life as a gift of the Traveler, with me as its agent. Before that, you’d been dead a very long time.”

The answers were slightly disconcerting. The lightbearer raised their hands to look, finding them gloved in a white fiber. “I took the liberty of molding you together clothes out of spare glimmer I’ve collected over the years. Just a basic combat suit while we figure out who you are.” Bluejay capped off the sentence with a satisfied chirp, almost prideful. “In the meantime, I can show you what you look like, if you’d like.”

The lightbearer nodded, and Bluejay beamed a live-video feed of her face, functionally a mirror. She stared at her reflection: golden orange eyes met her gaze, eyes that seemed to swim around in their sockets. Her skin was a pale blue, the color of the softest sky, with black hair cut short, barely hanging past her ears. She held a hand to her jawline, inspecting herself.

“I tried to recreate yourself exactly as you would’ve been the day you died,” Bluejay said, peppiness fading into an awkward crawl by the end of the sentence. “I’m not sure if it’s in poor taste or not to acknowledge that.”

The lightbearer was not offended. “I like myself. Thank you, Bluejay.”

The little ghost made a few more happy whirs, causing the lightbearer to giggle in response.

“Now, resurrection comes with amnesia, so you’re gonna see a lot of things you’re not gonna understand. But don’t worry. You’ll get up to speed quick.” Bluejay spun around, gesturing around the cockpit. “This ship is pretty much toast, and we’re a long way from the Traveler, so we’re gonna have to find another one.”

Though the lightbearer was still struggling to remember anything, all that Bluejay said made sense. It was almost instinctual.

‘The Traveler’, for instance. The word brought warm thoughts to the lightbearer’s mind. Strength. Safety. Home. She imagined the massive white sphere, hung over the planet Earth, keeping a silent vigil for centuries. This was a memory. Not one she understood, and yet…

Movement. Just outside. Her ears instinctively perked up, eyes narrowing. Bluejay noticed the shift in demeanor, and floated over to the hatch, enough room for him to watch the outside.

“Something’s coming,” Bluejay whispered, dematerializing. His voice remained though, guiding the lightbearer along. “I’m still with you, just in your head. Stay quiet.”

The lightbearer waited with baited breath as the metal ship creaked above her, shifting under the weight of something. “It’s probably just some wild animal,” Bluejay reassured her. “There weren’t any Fallen patrols near here when I came out looking for you.” Though that was true, Bluejay sounded as if he were attempting to convince himself.

The groaning of old metal stopped for a moment, before the lightbearer heard the heavy footfall of someone jumping down to the ground. The hatch to her right that let in the tiny sliver of light was ripped open, which was initially blinding. The lightbearer raised a hand as her eyes adjusted, before seeing the culprits.

They were two humans, each with matching red markings on their face. They pointed wooden rifles at her in confusion, seemingly trying to appear hostile.

“Risen. Get out and come with us,” the one on the right said.

“How do you know it’s Risen? I don’t see the ghost anymore.”

The first speaker hushed his companion, brow furrowed as he concentrated on the threatening stature. “Come peacefully, and no harm will befall you.”

The lightbearer raised her hands slowly, trying to show peaceful surrender. In her mind, she instinctively knew she could cut her assailants down with ease, with nothing but her bare fists. But something told her not to, something deep down. These were people, to be protected.

Bluejay spoke to her from within her head. “Let’s just go along with them. I didn’t chart any human settlements around here while I was looking for you. They could have a ship, and a way to the Traveler.”

The two humans seemed not to hear Bluejay, backing away slowly as the lightbearer climbed out the hatch. “Okay,” she said softly, responding to Bluejay and the humans at the same time.

Their guns were still trained on her as she stood tall, hands high in the air, white uniform looking like little more than scraps in the full light. One of the humans circled around behind her, keeping his aim straight at her back. The human with the stronger eyes stayed in front of her, turning to begin walking. “Whatever you are, follow us. You are in the territory of the great Warlord Titan, Bruce.”

He shuffled forward, and the lightbearer felt the sharp nudge of the other human’s rifle barrel pressing against her spine. “Walk,” he barked, and she obliged.

“Well, I suppose getting our bearings isn’t going to be as uneventful as I’d hoped,” Bluejay mused within her head. The lightbearer frowned. She supposed not.


	2. Chapter 2

The lightbearer was getting exhausted. She and her captors had been walking for what felt like forever. First through the enormous grass field that Bluejay had found her in, leaving her resting place behind. Then up a foreboding hill, one of many cone-shaped mounds that seemed to dot the landscape. And now finally through this dry forest, where branches and thorn bushes left no clear path in sight.

She was safe from being scraped by any of the vegetation thanks to the suit Bluejay had made for her. The other two humans weren’t so lucky, muttering swears or hisses with each prickly surprise. The lightbearer was convinced she could crush them, one versus two, even with them having guns. That was clearer than ever. But she didn’t want to escape. Bluejay was clear about that.

So instead she trudged along with them. Neither answered her questions, only occasionally dignifying them with a “Shut up” or “Quiet!” The lightbearer was simply testing herself by asking. More and more basic knowledge seemed to return to her with each minute, her mind recalling everything but her memories as the amnesia of rebirth slowly faded away.

She knew of the Traveler’s existence, but didn’t really understand what it was. Bluejay assured her that was their imperative objective: get to the Traveler, which was far from here. But it was on Earth. That seemed important for some reason.

The lightbearer heard the faint sound of flowing water. All of a sudden, how dry her mouth felt became immediately apparent. She broke off from the two humans to her right, following the sound.

“Hey!” one of the humans yelled, tracking her with his rifle’s aim. His eyes narrowed as she crouched down next to the tiny stream making the noise, cupping her hands together to catch some water and sip it. The lightbearer looked back, feigning a sheepish look.

“She’s just getting water,” the other human said, holding his rifle at his side. Despite being the one not holding the gun to her, the lightbearer found him more intimidating. He was slightly taller in stature, and his eyes cut deep into her with curiosity.

“But she’s not even cuffed or anything.”

“Do you have any restraints?” The shorter one was unable to answer. “That’s what I thought.”

The lightbearer stood back up, dwarfing both humans by at least six inches. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she marched past them. “This way, I presume?” she said with snark, continuing through the forest.

“She presumes,” the shorter human muttered. His partner smirked.

It wasn’t much longer before the forest broke away into a clearing, which was filled to the brim with people. Leather tents swayed in the breeze, smoke rose to the blue sky, and the chattering of a few hundred hung in the breeze. The lightbearer smiled. This was some form of civilization.

Her trance was broken by a strong grip against her right arm. The shorter human pulled her back behind her two captors. “Stay behind us. And do not stray. There will be consequences.” He brandished his rifle.

“Gaive, the Risen followed us for three hours. I think she will make it to Bruce from here.” The other human looked back at her, pursing his lips. “But he’s right. Don’t give us any trouble.”

“I’m forgetting who kidnapped who,” Bluejay said within the lightbearer’s head. She stifled a giggle as the two humans moved down the center path of the village.

The lightbearer craned her neck as she took in all the people around her. All of them had the three striped tattoos across their faces, most of them green. Even the few young children that she saw had the markings. A few people’s markings were blue, and they were tending to the many horses tied to posts around the village between tents. In fact, the posts seemed to be the only things nailed to the ground.

The trio approached the center tent, which was larger by almost tenfold, resembling an actual structure rather than the camping tents that dotted the rest of the village. Here at the center were a few more people with the red markings, with rifles to match. Their eyes trained on the lightbearer, transfixed with curiosity and maybe a bit of fear.

The lightbearer’s captors pulled back the folds of the tent before entering. She hesitated to follow, but a quick look over her shoulder showed what seemed like a hundred pairs of eyes. It seemed she’d sparked quite the commotion without realizing.

The lightbearer ducked inside, taking in the room. About a half dozen people worked around the room, wearing the same rather worn down clothes that everyone in the village seemed to. There were a few small cooking fires and a butcher next to them, cutting apart a wild hog. A few more people were cleaning the room, wiping down the long dining table and setting up silverware, sweeping the floor, dusting the seats.

Behind the dining area, towards the back, was a hulking man whose clothes stood out from the crowd just as the lightbearer’s did. His armor was massive, encasing him in faded navies and shades of black. He had a braided beard that stretched down to his chest, which he was stroking as he stood over a table, reading something. Around his waist was a small banner, the cloth navy with two white birds stretching out from each other.

“Salut, Warlord,” the lightbearer’s two captors belted out in unison. Their rifles were now both slung around their shoulders, hands behind their backs in a show of respect.

“You’ve brought me something, I hope.” The Warlord spoke in a low growl that somehow carried across the room. A few of the workers seemed to flinch. The lightbearer stood tall.

“A Risen, sir,” said Gaive, his voice no longer trying to appear authoritative. It was clear he had none here.

“Oh? Did it go down without fighting?” There was a hint of lightheartedness in the Warlord’s tone. He turned around, pressing the table with enough force to make it creak as he straightened his posture.

He walked around the dining table to the lightbearer. Gaive and the other human stepped aside from her, as they and the other humans in the room averted their gaze as the Warlord approached them.

His movement was slow and tactful, each step carrying a heavy fall against the dirt beneath them. Eventually he stopped a few feet away from the lightbearer, matching her stance. He was just a bit shorter than her despite his relative stockiness. His hair was almost buzzed off, and what little was left was the same dark brown as his beard. His face was tanned, squarish, and jagged. The lightbearer couldn’t get a read on him.

Until he broke into a smile. “An Awoken. I’ve only encountered a few of you in all my days.” His face instantly seemed less like a brute and more like a friendly uncle.

Still, the lightbearer was puzzled by the statement. “Awoken?”

The Warlord seemed not to hear her. He took her hand forcefully and shook, his grip enough to make the lightbearer wince. “I am Bruce, a Titan and lord of these people.” The lightbearer could barely concentrate on his words until he let go. “I trust my hunters did not lie to me, and yet I do not see a ghost.”

The lightbearer held her palm out horizontally, and Bluejay materialized, whirring as a greeting. “This is Bluejay,” the lightbearer said. “And I’m… sorry.”

“Nice to meet the two of you, Sorry,” Bruce replied.

“No, I mean…” The lightbearer trailed off as Bruce guffawed loudly. A few of the other people laughed quietly, prompting her to blush a little bit. “I mean, I don’t have a name. Yet, I guess. Bluejay just found me before your, uh, hunters did.”

“Hm.” Bruce gave her original two captors a brief glare. They stared at the floor. “I trust they didn’t treat you too poorly. It’s safer to be a little bristly with outsiders these days.”

The lightbearer didn’t have a chance to answer before the Titan turned and walked away, with a brisk hand motion indicating her to follow him. “Fascinating, a freshly resurrected Risen. It explains the lack of any class clothing, or your willingness to submit to my guards. And the lack of a name. That won’t do, that won’t do at all.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know-” the lightbearer tried cutting off the Titan, but he seemed one to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“For now, I’ll call you Dakota,” Bruce said, gripping the back of a chair at the table. “For the old world’s name of this region.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Regardless! This is so exciting, there’s so much to tell of the world we live in now. Please, sit, and join me and my most esteemed hunters for dinner. Gaive! Tom! You will be seated to my right today, this is quite the accomplishment from the both of you.”

The lightbearer struggled to raise her voice. “Bruce, Lord Bruce, I don’t, um…”

“Whatever you wish to say, nonsense!” The Titan waved his hand, cutting her off. “You will eat and sleep. I remember how much I ached for a warm meal and a rest after my first day back alive. Cooks! Have my supper ready soon, and prepare an extra plate. The poor girl must expect great things from her first meal!”

The lightbearer pursed her lips, but made her way to her seat. She had been hungry.

Bluejay, who had been hovering over her shoulder, dematerialized. “This all seems like quite the production. But go along with it. We have to find a way to the Last City. A fellow lightbearer seems like our best bet right now.”


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever reservations the lightbearer had had about Bruce’s overt friendliness evaporated once the meal was served. Glistening pork chops that still crackled with heat, a variety of steamed vegetables of all colors and shapes, and ice cold water that practically froze her lips to the touch. She was all of a sudden very aware that she technically hadn’t eaten in years.

“Thank you so much,” the lightbearer said between forkfuls, “This is really-”

“Fantastic? Of course.” Bruce had a habit of cutting her off. “I demand the best from my personal cooks, what is a meal if not to be enjoyed.”

The lightbearer nodded, downing the rest of her glass of water. One of the people with green markings was quick to refill her glass, her dark hair tied back with a green bandana that matched her tattoos. Before she backed away from the table, Bruce clutched her arm.

“Nadiya. Fetch me my map. I wish to provide some enlightenment to our new Risen friend.”

He let go, his Titan strength leaving an imprint in her dark skin. She backed away without a word, going off to the back of the room, which was littered with chests and parchments around a central table. Bruce’s work station, the lightbearer presumed.

“Now, Dakota,” the Titan said, turning to face her, “I’d like to formerly welcome you back to the land of the living with a toast.” He stood forcefully, his weight causing the entire table to rock. The half-dozen people seated around the table followed suit, all of them raising their glasses to match his. The lightbearer looked on wordlessly.

“The night is dark and cold. The day is strained and hard. But we are men of fortune, seeking the best of lives we can. So! Brothers, sisters, look life in the eyes, and tear your fortune from it. Nothing can stop you except your own will!” Bruce’s words thundered through the room, and he capped his speech with a guttural “Hurrah!” that the hunters at the table echoed.

The lightbearer took a sip of her water, feeling somewhat anxious amidst all the commotion. The toast had seemed to open the floodgates for the room socially, though Bruce seemed to have one thing in mind.

“No reaction, hm?” His tone almost seemed offended. “I suppose you’re not even a day old. You’ll come to relearn customs if you stick around.”

“Well, actually…” The lightbearer found it hard to form the words. She wasn’t afraid of the Titan, but was admittedly apprehensive. “My ghost, Bluejay, he explained to me that we have to reach the Traveler. And that it’s far from here.”

Bruce choked on a laugh. “Of course your _ghost_ thinks that.” The lightbearer didn’t understand why that was funny.

“Look kid, we got a good thing going on here. Stick it out for a little bit. See if you like it.” The Titan took another huge bite of his food as the servant returned with a large piece of parchment. Bruce took it in excitement. “Thank you, Nadiya!”

Bruce stood back up and spread the map across the table between him and the lightbearer. On it was an elaborately drawn map of the continent they were on, with a path charted on it. It had arrows symbolizing direction, and started in the southeast of the landmass, snaking along the eastern coast before cutting back west. The trail stopped in what was almost the middle of the map, where a dot was labeled ‘The Badlands’.

“Behold,” Bruce said, projecting his voice to convey gravitas, “The North American Empire.”

The lightbearer rose to get a better look at the parchment. The map portrayed a world that she didn’t remember, names that she didn’t recognize in the slightest. The Manhattan Nuclear Zone. The Great White. Old Chicago.

She pointed where the trail ended. “The Badlands. That’s where we are?”

Bruce nodded, sitting back down to eat but still admiring the map. “Yes ma’am. I’ve taken the liberty of using modern names for all our campsites, plus I think they’re a little more descriptive. ‘The Badlands’ gets this place’s identity across a lot better than ‘Dakota’. We live in a post-Collapse world, let’s have a little fun with it.”

The lightbearer didn’t shift her gaze from the map, even though she grit her teeth at the Warlord’s pet name for her. It was hard to articulate, but it felt wrong. That name… It wasn’t her.

“What do you think?” Bruce’s question snapped her back to reality. The lightbearer realized she’d been staring at the map for a little too long to seem natural at this point.

“Oh, just, admiring the handiwork,” she quipped, sitting back down. “You draw that entire thing yourself?”

Bruce snorted in response. “Course not. The only art I know is war.”

“That’s a little on the nose,” Bluejay said, unable to avoid the opportunity. The remark was thankfully within the lightbearer’s head, though she was getting the impression her ghost wasn’t the biggest fan of her host.

The lightbearer went back to finishing her meal. She took the moment to observe. The warriors seated at the table engaged each other with war stories, fighting something called the Fallen, and alluding to other Warlords. Bruce, given the lapse in his conversation, couldn’t help but join in. His voice roared over all the others. He was proud, and made sure his clan knew it.

The stories weren’t just of battle. They told stories of unparalleled journeys. Of the clan picking up its roots every two weeks and traversing the memory of this continent, avoiding prying eyes and bigger sticks. The lightbearer’s long walk to camp earlier today suddenly felt like an aloof Sunday stroll.

She watched the rest of the room, too. The many servants surrounding the table, waiting with bated breath to refill a glass, to scoop on more food, to answer a request. Some flinched when addressed. They wore fake smiles and thousand yard stares impenetrable by the lightbearer’s narrowed eyes.

Though she wasn’t a day old, it was enough to make the lightbearer uncomfortable. She polished the rest of her plate in silence, pausing briefly to thank the servants when they refilled her water or clearer her utensils.

For the rest of the table, their raucous antics were business as usual. But things were different tonight, and Bruce was eventually fixated on the new Risen once more.

“So, Dakota. What do you think?”

The lightbearer turned back to her host, unsure of what to make of the question. “About what?”

“Life. Second chances. Here you sit, in the company of esteemed warriors, sharing laughs and woes, good times and bad. What do you plan to do with it? How will you make your future fortuitous?”

The lightbearer saw through the act, but the root of the question seemed genuine enough. “I don’t know. My ghost mentioned the Last City, or reaching the Traveler. Whatever that is, wherever that is, it seems a good place to start.”

Bruce snorted. “Well, I hope you enjoy pissing away your second chance at life,” he snarled in response.

“I’m sorry, I know what sarcasm is, but-”

“The Traveler’s a joke. It all is. Why do you think the world is like it is? Why this is called the Dark Age? That hunk of energy left us here to die, and now we’re gifted the opportunity to go protect its corpse.”

The lightbearer recoiled in surprise. The Titan was speaking with a venom she hadn’t anticipated. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Bruce frowned, his eyes glowering with bitterness. “Alright maybe your ghost hasn’t filled you in on the state of affairs.” He turned his chair to face her directly. “Well, allow me to fill you in.

“The world ended. The Traveler came to us, however many years ago, and brought with it an angry mob of pirates, demons, all sorts of terrors trying to steal its power. And it died. Maybe it fought off the worst of what was to come. But we were doing just fine before the Traveler showed up. It doomed us all.”

Bluejay made an uncomfortable glitch from within the lightbearer’s head. “What he’s saying is irrational. The Traveler sacrificed itself for humanity. It gave you a second chance.”

But it didn’t matter. The lightbearer was focused on Bruce’s anger. “When I was resurrected, I don’t even know how long ago, I followed my ghost’s teachings. That I was special, that I had to reach this city that they were building. That it was my destiny.

“So I showed up, and there, under the Traveler’s shadow, were less people than I have under my protection here. It was all a sham. They were constantly assaulted by the Fallen. Day in, day out. Never a chance to rest, to breathe. To live. All that as atonement for some dead god.

“No,” the Titan growled, pausing to compose himself. “You entrench yourself, you leave yourself vulnerable. To the Fallen, to other Risen, to whatever else lies out there. Maybe things are better there now. I hear the Traveler’s lapdogs are calling themselves Guardians now.” He stopped again, a low chuckle escaping him. “They’re idiots. Fighting a war that can’t be won. They’re doomed to fail.”

The lightbearer was astonished. Much of the information made sense, but she felt a tugging urge inside. That everything she was hearing was wrong. Not necessarily factually, but base, vile, inappropriate. But that wasn’t enough to stomach an argument.

Plus, Bruce was right. She wasn’t even a day old. She figured whatever thoughts she had would be hard to articulate.

Unfortunately, Bruce misinterpreted her thoughtful silence with contempt. “Well, if you’d rather be a slave to your ghost, then go right ahead.”

“Is he serious? Slave?” Bluejay’s response was only for the lightbearer to hear, but she could practically imagine the disembodied voice rolling its eyes.

The lightbearer realized she still hadn’t replied to the Warlord. “No, I just… I’m sorry. It’s a lot to consider.”

In an instant, the Titan’s demeanor changed. His face softened, posture hunched a little bit to refrain from looking imposing. “Ah, no worries. It’s a lot. I’m glad to see you may come around.”

The lightbearer nodded. It seemed the move was to appear docile. “Thanks. But you were right, I’m awfully tired. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept.” She stretched her arms and began to feign a yawn before one came naturally. Turns out there was some truth to it.

The Titan grunted in reply, standing from the table forcefully. “Then we’ll make room for you. I trust your first meal back alive delivered?”

The lightbearer couldn’t shake the thought that the question almost sounded like a threat. “For sure. It was great.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bruce replied, glaring at some of the servants. “Now. Let’s find you a tent to sleep in.”

Bruce headed off for the tent’s flaps, and the lightbearer followed. She felt the eyes of the room on her and the Titan. Why the glares? Curiosity? Jealousy?

Then, just before Bruce exited the tent, there was an uproarious choir from everyone inside. “Salut, Warlord!”

No, she concluded. It was fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Outside, the sky was a gradient of blue and burnt orange. Wisps of clouds drifted away, and the crescent-faced moon hung low, starting to reflect the sun. The lightbearer took a moment to stare. It had been a long time since she’d seen something that beautiful.

Bruce noticed, and craned his neck upwards. “That’s another thing you’d miss living under the Traveler, by the way. All that natural beauty would be replaced by that thing blocking your view of the stars.”

The lightbearer shrugged in response. There was no point in egging him on. She had been uncomfortable when his bitterness towards the Traveler had transitioned into anger at dinner. Best to avoid any more sudden mood swings.

“Anyways, you ought to get a good rest,” Bruce said, leading her to a tent a couple dozen yards from the command tent. Two of his guards followed close behind the pair of lightbearers. “I’ll see to it you’re woken up in the morning and given breakfast. Figure I ought to show you the ropes around here tomorrow.”

“And what’s that gonna entail?”

“Well, there’s tending to the horses, preparing food for the whole clan, charting our course across the continent…” Bruce turned back with a sheepish grin. “But none of that concerns us.”

“Oh?”

“We’re lightbearers, Dakota!” The Warlord punched his open hand, a spark of blue energy leaping from the contact. “We’re gonna look for some Fallen ass to kick.”

“Oh.” The lightbearer was still confused as to what a ‘Fallen’ was.

Bluejay materialized into existence, hovering between the two Risen. “Fantastic. We can get you some combat training, maybe see what kind of Light you’re attuned to.”

“Of course, all that other shit’s important,” Bruce continued, stopping in front of the tent. “But that’s below us. All these people, they keep this clan running with busywork. So it’s my responsibility to protect them against whatever crosses our path. Be it aliens, rogue frames, or even other people.” His voice had lowered near the end of the sentence. “Or Risen.”

It didn’t seem like a threat to the lightbearer, but maybe it was a warning. “Regardless, we’ve been camped out here in the Badlands for ten nights now. The House of Scar might pin us down if we’re not careful. They’ve been tracking us for a couple months now as we’ve headed west.”

“The House of Scar are one of the minor Fallen houses,” Bluejay explained to the lightbearer. “The Fallen are basically alien pirates who came to our solar system trying to poach the Traveler for themselves.”

“Okay,” the lightbearer confirmed. “And humans are at war with them?”

“It’s less of a war than an infection,” Bruce answered. “The Fallen are like buzzards, picking at the carcass of what we once had. It’s our duty to drive them back where they came from. Or into the ground.”

“That’s why it’s so dangerous to be wandering around the wild,” Bluejay continued, whirring and buzzing as he spoke. “You might be unknowingly venturing into Fallen territory. The House of Scar’s only significant presence on Earth is in the middle expanses of this continent, so I imagine we might be right under their noses right now.”

“Which is why it’s important that we take out any scouting parties we can find,” Bruce interjected. “You don’t know want to know what I’ve seen the bastards do. What they _would_ do if they got their claws on these people.”

“The Fallen are serious business.” Bluejay closed his shell, the ghost equivalent of narrowing its eyes. “If we go off picking a fight with them tomorrow, we have to be on our A-game. There’s no room for error if you haven’t figured out how to use your light yet.”

“Don’t worry about her, little light. I’ve wiped the floor with too many Fallen to count. Dakota will be safe with me and my hunters.” Bruce cracked his knuckles, excited for the next day already. “But go get some shut-eye. I want to see what you can do.”

The Warlord whistled and made a hand motion, drawing the two trailing guards forward. “You two. Free up this tent for Dakota, please.”

They ducked their heads and entered as the two Risen waited outside. Bluejay hung over the lightbearer’s shoulder, making excited beeps. “You know, I’m looking forward to this. Who knows what you’re capable of. And we could always use less Fallen.”

The ghost’s high spirits faded, however, as the two guards exited the tent. A lanky man followed them out, his cheek split from a punch. His eyes were hidden behind the same green tattoos the servants in the command tent had worn, but the lightbearer still caught his gaze. He looked less sad than just worn out, but he quickly averted his eyes from the lightbearer.

“You’ll take his tent for now,” Bruce said, his voice lower than before. “Don’t worry about him; there’s plenty of room in the command tent for failures.”

“Failures?” Bluejay asked.

“We run a tight ship,” Bruce answered, sighing. “And I’ll be quicker to alleviate someone jeopardizing the clan consistently of their living space than someone who gives it their all.”

The lightbearer stared at the man walking away as one of the guards shoved him towards the command tent. “I don’t need the space. He can stay.”

“Nonsense.” Bruce sounded less friendly with each passing sentence. “There’s no room for complacency here. He can earn his privileges back. You’re my guest. So please.” The Warlord extended his hand towards the tent. An order.

The lightbearer stared at the Titan. His beard masked his face, making hard to read him. But there was no doubt that he felt he was in charge. And while she scoffed at the idea, there was no point in challenging him. He’d win.

Thus, she pulled back the flap of the tent, crouching down to enter. Bluejay made an aggravated beep and flew in under her arm.

“I’ll see you in the morning. And I expect great things.” Bruce nodded, hands on his hips. “House of Scar doesn’t know what’s coming.”

The lightbearer closed the flap without answering, and collapsed on the ground. All that she’d done today was walk and eat, and yet she was still exhausted. Leftover aches from resurrection, she supposed.

Bluejay hovered in silence for a few minutes as the lightbearer stared at the tent’s ceiling. Whatever notion she’d had that Bruce might’ve been right about things had evaporated in an instant. Which left her unsure of what to do.

She sat back up, taking in the tent. It was minimalist, with a fur rug on the ground that acted as a bed. Other than that, there was a lantern and a small bag, which she assumed carried the evicted man’s belongings. Best to leave that alone.

“Bluejay,” she piped up, “Is this how people live now?”

Bluejay whirred in disapproval, zipping over to face the lightbearer. “Maybe under Warlords. Not in the City. Since the walls went up, there’s running water, electricity, plumbing-”

The lightbearer held up a hand, stopping her ghost. “You don’t have to sell me on the City. I’ve seen enough here to follow your lead.”

Bluejay made a chipper beep in response. “Well that’s all well and good, but I don’t have a semblance of a plan.” The ghost lowered its eye to the floor. “I assumed when you were apprehended that we’d be taken to a spacefaring Warlord, or some degree of civilization. This clan Bruce runs, it’s very… primitive.”

“Which means we’ll have to go elsewhere to find a ship,” the lightbearer concluded, hugging her legs as she thought. It was good to know their time with Bruce had an expiration date, but they still needed a course of action.

“I honestly doubt we’ll find anything that can help us in the Badlands,” Bluejay said. “Once the Golden Age began, certain areas of Earth were sectioned into reservations, to preserve nature as humanity expanded rapidly. This is one of them.”

“So we’ll have to travel far for a ship.”

“The further east we go, the better our odds. More scattered civilization, and if all else fails, we’ll start getting to the ruins of the North American Empire’s metropolises. There’ll be some ship we can use at a spaceport somewhere.”

“Well that’s something to work on,” the lightbearer said. She drummed her fingers as she thought further. “What do you suggest we do now?”

“Hm…” Bluejay made some expressive beeps as he thought. “I don’t advise that you go off on your own without a weapon. And I doubt that Bruce is going to just give one up for you to keep if you’re leaving.

“I say we stick around a few more days. Bruce said they’ve been camped out here for ten nights, and they move every two weeks or so. They’ve been heading west according to that map, so we can just split off in the other direction when they pack up. I bet Bruce will give you something to use if we’re hunting Fallen tomorrow. Maybe you can get away with just keeping it. I can just transmat it away for you.”

The lightbearer nodded with approval. “Okay. I guess I’ll just have to play nice with him until I leave. Which I doubt he’ll be happy about.”

“No, I’d guess he won’t be.”

“Hm.” The lightbearer’s mind wandered, unable to rest quite yet. For all that she’d learned today, it was the Warlord’s speech that hung in her head. Deep down she couldn’t reconcile his anger as truth, but she didn’t know any alternative. “Bluejay, why did you resurrect me.”

“Why’d I choose you? It’s hard to explain.” The ghost expanded its shell, thinking. “I guess it’s instinct more than anything. I’ve been searching for years for the right person to resurrect. And I felt the Light strongest in you.”

“Okay,” the lightbearer mused, “But I mean why did you resurrect _anyone_. I’m flattered, by the way. But what Bruce said about the world… How much of that was true?”

“Oh.” Bluejay closed up, his voice growing somber. “Well, the Warlord certainly has a jaded outlook on things. But a lot of what he said is true.”

The lightbearer laid down on the fur, listening intently. Bluejay hovered down close to the ground, beginning his side of the story. “Hundreds of years ago, the Traveler came to this system. It bestowed unparalleled gifts to humanity. Rapidly advancing technology, mind-boggling scientific theory, and terraforming planets and moons for humanity to settle.

“No longer were humans only dreaming of colonizing Earth’s moon, or Mars. Overnight, those were attainable goals. All facets of life progressed. True social equality, a tripled human life span, new movements in art and culture. And as close to world peace as human nature can allow. Humanity’s Golden Age was almost a utopia. And there was so much to still be done.

“But then the Darkness came. The Traveler’s mortal enemy, chasing it across eons. All these years later, and we don’t exactly know what it was. But it wiped out our world. The Traveler made a last stand, pushing back the Darkness. It sacrificed itself, going into dormancy to save the rest of humanity. And create the ghosts.”

Bluejay buzzed satisfactorily. “Like me, obviously. Ghosts to choose those strong in the Light, worthy of wielding the amazing powers that the Traveler made possible. I only know my instinct, not what the Traveler wills us to do, but I think we were supposed to find protectors. People strong enough to protect humanity until the Traveler wakes back up.”

“So that’s me,” the lightbearer said. She felt her chest swell with pride, even in her relative ignorance. She had been chosen by the Traveler. That had to mean something.

“Yes,” Bluejay continued. “I haven’t been back to the Last City in quite some time, but Bruce was right. The Risen congregating there are calling themselves Guardians of humanity. I think that’s something to aspire to.”

The lightbearer smiled. “Yeah, maybe.” Even through her exhaustion, she was itching for something to fight for. Now, given time to rest, the idea of herself having been given a second chance was starting to set in. She had been dead, and now was given a new opportunity. A new responsibility. One she didn’t understand, but it seemed honorable. Protecting people just because it was the right thing to do.

She still had questions for her ghost, though. “Bluejay, when we leave, can we take these people with us to the City?”

Bluejay made an uncomfortable blip. “Something tells me Bruce isn’t going to just give up his subjects. Whatever caste system they have going on here-”

“With the tattoos? I noticed that too.”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, I doubt people can just up and walk away.” Bluejay’s tone grew serious. “Look, I know what I just said about aspiration, and fighting for innocent people. But you don’t know what your powers are yet. Bruce is a Warlord. He’s not to be messed with. Most of them were been killed off by the Iron Lords, any who have survived are probably the most dangerous of the lot.”

Bluejay hovered just above the lightbearer’s resting head, stressing his point. “I have no doubt he’s killed Risen before. You have a gift: me. But if I die, that’s it. Your powers are gone, I can’t resurrect you again, it’s all over. We have to pick our fights. And you’re not ready yet.”

“Hang on, hang on,” the lightbearer interrupted, sitting back up. “Resurrect me _again_? You mean I have more than one life?”

“Oh. Well, yeah.” Bluejay’s eye darted sheepishly to the ground. “I guess there’s a lot of important things I forgot to mention in the commotion. But once I resurrected you that first time, I became attuned to your Light. As long as I’m alive, you’re functionally immortal.”

That was quite the revelation for the lightbearer. “Huh. Neat.”

“There’s a lot I haven’t explained, I guess,” Bluejay said. “I guess I’ll just go over things as they come up. It’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry.”

The lightbearer laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I feel like if I just started asking every question I had it’d be overwhelming for us both.”

“Perhaps,” Bluejay replied. “But if you have anything else keeping you awake, then shoot.”

“Okay.” The lightbearer lied back down, thinking for a moment. “You say I have powers, from the Traveler’s Light.” She held her hands above her face, clenching them into fists. Feeling for something that wasn’t there. “How do I know what they are? How to use them?”

“It’s just instinct,” Bluejay said. “Lightbearers are naturally attuned to void, solar, or arc energy. You can learn to experiment with the other two, but you’ll find your strength when you need it. There’s no way of knowing until you grasp the Light yourself.”

“So I guess there’s no way of knowing now.”

“No. I imagine it’ll come to you when we’re fighting Fallen. Under stress, in combat, you’ll find the Light without realizing it,” Bluejay continued. “And once you do, we can figure out what discipline you tend towards.”

“Discipline?”

“Like how Bruce is a Titan. It’s something newer, a way for Guardians to define the ways they wield their Light. The term comes from the classes of lightbearers banding together in the City, which is part of why I think Bruce has come across other Risen before. Perhaps Guardians.”

“Oh.” It seemed with everything Bluejay explained to her, the Warlord became more of a potential threat to the lightbearer. “So he’s a Titan? What is that?”

“Titans value strength above all else. The guilds of Titans built the City’s walls, defended the City in the Battle of Six Fronts – the Fallen offensive on the City some years ago. They channel their light into brute force, whether on the offensive or as a protector.

“And then there’s Warlocks and Hunters. The name Hunter speaks for itself, I guess. Stealthy predators or wayfaring scouts, they’re instrumental in expanding our new civilization’s horizons, and getting the jump on the Fallen. They tend to infuse their weapons with their Light, supercharging them to create powerful tools against the Darkness.

“Meanwhile, Warlocks are seekers of knowledge, trying to pick up the pieces of what the Traveler left us and hopefully grow beyond that. They channel their light in its most raw and dangerous forms. And in my experience, the intelligence comes with some strangeness.

“Of course, those are all just stereotypes based on lightbearers’ – or I guess, Guardians’ – roles in the City,” Bluejay clarified. “Guardians tend to hold some degree of their discipline’s personality, but they’re all individuals. Which is why you don’t know what you are yet. We just have to find out for ourselves.”

The lightbearer nodded. “Okay. One last thing. When Bruce called me an ‘Awoken’, what does that mean?”

“Have you noticed your skin is different from the other humans?”

The lightbearer rolled her eyes. “Yes. I just don’t know what that means.”

“Well, that’s what he means by Awoken. Whoever you were before you died, you weren’t quite human.”

“Hm.” The lightbearer pursed her lips. “That doesn’t quite answer my question.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Bluejay made an apologetic beep. “It’s kind of a gap in the City’s knowledge. As far as we know, the Awoken weren’t around before the Collapse. But the few who showed up to the City never really explained where they came from.”

“So I was originally at the City before my past self died?”

“Well, no. The ship I resurrected you in, there’s no record of its design in the City’s database. Which means it’s not from the City, nor pre-Collapse. That we know of, at least.”

“So you have no idea who I was before.”

“No,” Bluejay replied, voice saddened. “But think of it this way. Every Risen wakes up with no memory of their past self. No name, no identity, no direction. Very few know where they came from, and the overwhelming majority of the time, it doesn’t matter. So yeah, we’re starting at square one, but it’s the same for everyone.”

The lightbearer nodded. It was comforting enough. “How do Risen get named then?”

Bluejay made his shell shrug again. It was a peculiar sight. “I don’t know. I think they just choose them most of the time. Or their ghost chooses for them.”

“I don’t really have an idea for myself.”

“Well don’t worry,” Bluejay said. “It’ll come to you. Just like your powers. I chose my own name, I figure you deserve that same right. And I’m guessing you don’t want to go with Dakota.”

“No.” The lightbearer’s tone was admittedly a little aggressive.

“Well, then just wait until you have some idea. I just knew I was named Bluejay when the Traveler created me. It matched my shell.” The ghost spun its shell around, showing off. “It’ll be the same for you. Eventually.”

The lightbearer nodded. It was a lot to consider. But she refused to keep a name Bruce had given her. It didn’t feel right.

“If there’s nothing else for now, I suggest you get some sleep,” Bluejay said. “You ought to keep on your toes tomorrow. Assuming we find some Fallen.”

The lightbearer flipped the switch on the lantern, leaving the tent in darkness. Through the leather, she could see the pale moonlight beaming down on the Badlands. Bluejay disappeared from thin air, going into whatever state ghosts called sleep. It had been a long day.

“Goodnight Bluejay,” the lightbearer said to the empty tent. “And thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you reading for waiting longer than normal! Had some stuff in life slow down my writing for a minute there. Hopefully it's worth the wait! (Our lightbearer is finally gonna see some action)

The morning after breathed new light into Bluejay and his fresh Risen. Yesterday had been out of their control, feeling around in the dark as the lightbearer became newly accustomed to light. But today they felt the calming winds of opportunity.

Of course, that was more literal than metaphorical. The lightbearer sat atop one of the clan’s horses, slowly walking along a cleared path through the forest. Here the wind carried a few dead leaves with it, autumn coming early to the relatively dry Badlands. The breeze was comforting for the lightbearer, a reminder of the world’s natural beauty. Even in death, she must have missed it.

Beside her was Bruce, his bulky frame requiring a much stockier mare. The Titan led the way through the forest, with an entourage of about a dozen of his subjects following the two Risen on foot. Half of them bore the red markings of Bruce’s guards, all of them carrying worn rifles or even bows. The rest lugged heavy satchels, talking low amongst themselves. Food for the day’s outing, and presumably more weapons. Bruce hadn’t gifted any to the lightbearer yet.

Still, she felt confident. Sleeping on her conversation with Bluejay had given her renewed purpose. She would go east in a few days, and perhaps learn more about her own Light today. Her reservations about the Warlord couldn’t dim that excitement.

“You see that, up ahead?” Bruce asked the lightbearer. She followed where he was pointing, a few hundred meters up the path. Light shone brighter there. “Breaking of the forest’s canopy. We’ll be out in the open.”

“Which means this’ll become a game of who spots the other first,” Bluejay answered, “Us, or the Fallen.”

“Well, let’s hope they don’t get the jump on us,” the lightbearer said.

“They ought not to,” the Warlord assured them. “The Badlands alternate peaks and valleys. We’re in the latter right now. Once we’re out of the woods, we’ll get a height advantage. Scout out the Fallen from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the lightbearer responded.

The caravan marched onwards. The lightbearer kept her eyes trained forward. On her right she sensed Bluejay keeping pace, hovering above her shoulder. And in her peripheral vision on her left was the Warlord, sneaking glances every few paces. Even with her renewed confidence, it was hard not to be bothered by.

“Bruce, how’d this path end up here, anyways?” the lightbearer said, trying to break the tension. “Figured if we’re as far from the Collapse as you say, this’d all be overgrown by now.”

“You’d be right to assume that,” the Warlord replied. “We cut our way into these woods from the east when we got the Badlands. Better to set up camp in a defensible position, and it’s obviously hard to find that in the prairies around here.”

“Seems smart enough.”

“It’s invaluable. One of the first things I learned when my ghost first rezzed me.”

“Bruce, come to think of it, I haven’t seen your ghost yet,” Bluejay interjected. “What’s their name?”

The Titan grunted, and held his palm out. His ghost appeared, blinking silently. Its shell was a faded eggshell white.

“As you can see, it isn’t very talkative,” Bruce said. “Never chose a name for itself either. Guess I’m not as lucky as the two of you.”

The Warlord’s ghost made a low croon before vanishing into thin air. Bruce grabbed the reins of his horse again with his free hand. He cracked the reins once, and his horse trotted ahead of the rest of the group.

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Bluejay said quietly. The lightbearer frowned, taking a glance at everyone following them. Pretty much all the guards already had their eyes trained on her. Figures.

Bruce had stopped at the end of the path. “Dakota! We’ll dismount here. Make us less of a target in case the Fallen are watching this ridgeline.”

The lightbearer nodded, climbing off of her horse beside the Warlord. Bruce made a hand motion towards some of his underlings, who brought forward a few of the satchels of supplies.

Bruce pointed up at the sky, now unobstructed by the forest. “You see those, Dakota?” he said. The lightbearer craned her neck up to see some fading vapor trails high above. She nodded in response.

“Those are left by Fallen skiffs. House of Scar’s close to us. Might’ve already scouted out our camp,” the Warlord explained. “But they haven’t attacked yet, we would’ve heard it. So we ought to try to find one of their scouting parties, hush up their trail of information.”

“Okay, sounds good,” the lightbearer replied.

“You and I will go ahead on foot, alone,” Bruce continued. “I don’t want my people potentially getting caught in the crossfire.”

Two of the villagers holding satchels approached the lightbearer. “Before we leave, though, stock up. Your ghost can hold your supplies so you don’t have to,” Bruce said. “I had them bring you lunch, plus one of the nicer marksman rifles I’ve scavenged over the years. Ought to be useful for testing your aim from range.”

Bluejay beamed some light over the sandwich one of the villagers was holding out, transmatting it away, while the lightbearer took the rifle from the other. It was sleeker than the old guns Bruce’s guards carried, which were beaten from years of use and neglect. This one still held a noticeable shine, grey geometry covering the gun’s otherwise black frame.

The lightbearer held it up to her eyes, aiming down the slightly zoomed scope towards a nearby tree. It felt natural in her arms, lightweight and agile. Bluejay flew back over to her, scanning the gun himself. He made a panicked beep before disappearing into the lightbearer’s head.

“That scout rifle, it’s City-made,” he said, for only her to hear. “Either Bruce and his cohorts stripped that off a dead Guardian, or…”

“Hm,” the lightbearer hummed. This wasn’t quite undeniable proof of their suspicions towards Bruce, but it was certainly foreboding.

“Well, let’s make the best of this, I suppose,” Bluejay said. “That’s a Trax Mallus III class rifle, with a Red-Dot OES sight and fifteen round magazine. Optimized for close quarters but scouts have intrinsic long range. Doesn’t have any special perks but it’s certainly better than the weapons he’s provided his subjects. You ought to be fine fighting Fallen at range with that thing.”

The lightbearer brought the rifle back down, keeping natural trigger discipline. Handling the weapon felt instinctive, as if she were already combat trained. Was that part of being a Risen?

“I’ve picked up six extra magazines of ammunition Bruce provided you, as well. Don’t worry about where I’m keeping all of it. It’s basically magic,” Bluejay said. “Which makes me wonder why Bruce bothered having his subjects carry his weapons for him if he’s got his own ghost.

The lightbearer turned to the Warlord to see what Bluejay meant. He was brandishing his own rifle, which was stockier than her scout, with a much larger magazine. An auto rifle, she somehow knew. Bruce’s ghost zapped it out of existence, and the Warlord took a hefty shotgun from another of his subjects, cocking back the pump action.

“Dakota! Come see this,” the Warlord boasted. The lightbearer stepped back to her fellow Risen, watching him turn the shotgun over in his hands. “Now this, _this_ is a weapon. A Strongbow-D I pried off a Risen who thought it wise to attack our camp once. This is prize and a half.”

“Well that’s practically confirmation,” Bluejay told the lightbearer.

“Got to be my favorite gun,” Bruce continued. “Modeled after the North American Empire’s weapons, but oh so modern. Gets stronger with each kill in quick succession, and reloads faster after kills, too. Crazy what the Light can do for our guns.”

He cocked the pump back forward. “Packs quite the punch. Arc energy, too, perfect for cutting through Fallen captains’ elemental shields.” He held it out for his ghost to transmat away, before placing his hands on his hips. “Part of being a warrior is finding your favorite tools. This baby’s been mine for almost a decade now.”

The lightbearer faked a smile to appease him, and looked up towards the hill. “Shall we?”

Bruce nodded. “The rest of you, hold camp here. If the Fallen find the ground entrance to the woods, fire indiscriminately. Hopefully we won’t be long.”

The two Risen began trudging up the hill as the rest of the Warlord’s people waited below. It was a short climb, and between the sun not being too high yet and the calming breeze, the lightbearer barely broke a sweat. The two crouched down and eventually got on their stomachs at the apex.

“Okay. Binoculars, ghost,” Bruce said, holding his hand out as he lied in wait. A small pair materialized in his hand, and he pressed them to his face.

The lightbearer watched as he studied the prairies before them, wondering how he was able to stay flexible in that bulky of armor. She figured if she did turn out to be a Titan, she’d prefer much slimmer armor. The woven threads of her white uniform felt comfortable and agile, whereas the Warlord’s heavy metal looked too much to clamber around in.

The lightbearer stayed silent for half an hour, while the Warlord scanned the miles ahead for any sign of Fallen activity. Even without binoculars, the lightbearer could make out foxes and deer minding their business in the prairie, congregating mostly near the small ponds spread out over the landscape. She didn’t know what Fallen looked like, anyways.

All in all, this was relatively boring, she thought. The Badlands were as desolate as the name suggested. Her mind wandered, thinking about what lay beyond the horizon. They were facing due east, and as the sun slowly rise higher, she wondered about the old civilizations just out of her reach.

She imagined dilapidated skyscrapers, abandoned but still majestic. Perhaps a perfect Golden Age ship, waiting somewhere out there for her to commandeer. The lure of adventure, just a few days away. If things went according to plan.

She thought of the Traveler. Its cracked bottom, hovering over the Earth like a meteor suspended from crash landing. That thought of the Traveler was, somehow, a distant memory, but her imagined City underneath was conjecture. People, happy and free. Some semblance of the utopia that Bluejay had said the world had enjoyed many years ago.

What if I am a Titan, she thought to herself. That that drive to protect the Last City without having even seen it yet was some inherent motivation within her. Or maybe she was a Hunter. Unsatisfied with sitting here impatiently, craving action and exploration. At least, she was kind of certain she wasn’t a Warlock. But that was all guesswork.

A low rumble from afar broke her out of her trance. “There we go,” she heard Bruce mutter to himself.

In the distance, she could see a rather ugly ship on approach. It was somewhere between mustard yellow and brown, with a darker undercarriage. The front of the ship was bulbous, the backend thinner but longer. As it grew closer, the lightbearer could make out crimson banners hanging off the ship, with a strange burnt orange sigil emblazoned across the flags.

“One of the House of Scar’s patrol skiffs,” Bruce explained as his binoculars vanished away. “Scouting out ahead of their ketch, most likely. And it’s coming right for us.”

Bruce cracked his knuckles in anticipation as Bluejay materialized before the two Risen. “Hang on, you mean the House of Scar have an entire _ketch_ tailing you?”

“Calm down, little light,” the Warlord said annoyedly. “It’s not their command ketch. I’ve seen that thing before, and I tell you, we’d be moving in the opposite direction if their Kell was hunting me and my tribe down for sport.”

Bruce turned to the lightbearer, his face clenched with determination. “I hope you’re ready for a fight. Just follow my lead. See if the Light comes to you.”

With that, the Warlord stood up. A metal helmet materialized in his hands, which he slid over his head. More than ever, he looked like more than a soldier. Somewhere within her the lightbearer knew this was the majestic stature of a Titan. Though he wasn’t to be trusted, it was hard not to be impressed.

“Hang on, I’ve got a helmet for you, too,” Bluejay said. In an instant, her face became hidden by a simple white covering which matched the rest of her basic uniform. Through whatever magic Bluejay had conjured, she could still see everything through the helm. She touched the sides of her head to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. Yup, it was woven metal fiber. Not her hair.

Bruce watched her confused reaction, chuckling to himself. “Lotta things I’ll never understand about our ghosts’ magic. Just try to roll with it.”

The Warlord got into a pivoted stance, clapping his hands a couple times and then shaking his arms out. The skiff had slowed up a few hundred meters ahead, having taken notice of the two Risen standing at the crest of the hill.

“Um, what are you doing?” the lightbearer asked.

The Warlord turned his head back around. “Like I said, follow my lead.”

Blue bolts of electricity sparked off of the Titan’s legs. Through her helmet, the lightbearer picked up the faint smell of ozone. One of the arc sparks zapped her leg, and she jumped back instinctively.

“Bruce?” the lightbearer yelled over the crackling electricity. “I don’t know how to do whatever that is!”

“Maybe you’re not a Striker!” the Warlord yelled back. “Don’t worry! Just meet me where the skiff lands!”

Suddenly, the Warlord rocketed off the ground, spurred by a jump before he stretched his arms forward, piercing through the sky. The lightbearer’s mouth hung open in awe. Behind him, a trail of blue energy radiated, left behind by the Titan who looked more like a lightning bolt than a person.

“By the Traveler’s Light,” Bluejay whispered. “He’s gonna take down the skiff with a Thundercrash!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve got to get down the hill now!”

The lightbearer began running down towards the prairie. Her scout rifle materialized in her hands, but she barely noticed. It was simply second nature.

“The skiff’s trying to turn around! But I don’t think it has enough time to evade him!” Bluejay yelled from within her head. “I’m gonna open voice comms with Bruce, I’ve synced up to his ghost.”

The lightbearer winced at the sudden static, interrupting her concentration from trying to run downhill. Through the static she heard a joyous laugh of excitement. “Here I come, you bastards!”

The impact caused an enormous thunderclap, both through the voice comms and through the dry air. Even here on the ground, the force of the impact knocked the lightbearer off her feet, and she slid the rest of the way down the hill. She bounded to her feet without losing momentum at the bottom, looking upwards.

The skiff had been knocked off balance, careening down in front of her. Its hull was blackened by the charring electricity, and the impact point on the front smoked more than ship’s failing engines.

Below the skiff was a small figure, falling back towards the ground. His descent slowed a few meters before landing, and his hard impact on the ground coincided with a loud static grunt in the lightbearer’s ears.

“Now that’s what I call a super!” the Warlord bellowed, picking himself up to his feet as the lightbearer slowed to a jog behind him. “I don’t know any Fallen who can pull that off!”

The skiff smashed into the ground a few dozen meters in front of the two of them. Once again, the lightbearer was knocked to the ground by the force of the impact. Blue fire sprouted out of the ship, its hull burying itself a few feet into the dirt. The lightbearer couldn’t decide which was more excruciating: the roar of the explosion or the uncomfortable groans of the ship’s metal losing its structure.

“No survivors!” the Warlord shouted excitedly. His auto rifle materialized in his hands, and he turned back to the lightbearer. She was still picking herself off the dirt. “Well, let’s go make sure of that!”

He jogged towards the crashed skiff, each heavy footstep kicking up the now loosened dirt. The lightbearer shook her head to clear her mind. “Guess it’s time to figure out what I’m capable of.”

She started towards the wreck, slowing down as she spotted the survivors of the crash. Small figures of what the lightbearer assumed were Fallen crawled out from the back end of the ship. Their faces were marred in soot, their orange clothes singed at best, still burning at worst. Their pained cries and screeches made the lightbearer grimace. Best to put them out of their misery.

Of course, the Titan was already taking care of that. His auto rifle thundered as he held down the trigger, pelting the Fallen with kinetic bullets. The impacts tore through them, severing limbs, pelting torsos with undeniable power. Some of the Fallen were able to fire a few shots of their own, blue bolts of electricity which Bruce easily sidestepped. Their attempts were met with punishing blows of retaliation from the Warlord.

The lightbearer raised her rifle, but there was no point in firing. Bruce was dismantling the survivors by himself with practically no effort. He pulled a blue orb out of thin air and tossed it at the second wave of straggling survivors, which exploded in a flash of bright light. The Fallen affected were blinded, before their heads were blown away by Bruce, leaving a white gas to viciously escape into the sky.

The Warlord in action was a sight to behold. He simply marched forward, firing at the aliens indiscriminately. Reloading his gun was a perfectly choreographed motion, with a new magazine appearing from thin air for him to lock in. It was hard to imagine anything could oppose the Risen.

An explosion from the skiff’s hull signified a new challenger. A breach in the hull, blowing away weakened metal from the crash, revealed a towering figure. This Fallen had four arms instead of two, and brandished blades that crackled with blue electricity in its two top hands. Behind it were a half dozen more four-armed Fallen, brandishing rifles and blades of their own. They spilled out behind their leader, taking shots at the Titan.

“Dakota! I’ll deal with the captain! You fight the vandals!” Bruce yelled. He charged towards the tallest creature, brandishing his auto rifle as if it were a sword. The captain swung with both blades, both connecting with the Titan’s rifle. The two were locked for a moment before the Titan spun away from the captain’s other hands reaching for him, and then delivered an electric blow to the captain’s abdomen with his fist.

The lightbearer broke from her spectating. The vandals. She swiveled her aim for two of the creatures which were charging her with spears. They hissed something angry in their language on approach. No time to think about it.

Four squeezes. Two for each of them. The scout rifle made a high pitched crack with each shot, sending a bullet to split the armor encasing each vandals’ head. Then a second each for a shot to the vulnerable spot.

Her assailants crumpled to the dirt before her, the spot which formerly contained their head leaking the same white gas. The lightbearer was surprised at her aim. How was she already this accurate?

“Now isn’t the time to be in awe of yourself!” Bluejay squealed. A bolt from one of the other vandals screamed past the lightbearer’s head, so close she could feel her hair straighten underneath her helmet.

“I’m sorry, this is my first time in combat, if you can recall,” the lightbearer snapped back, rolling to her right as another bolt flew by. She shot the offending vandal four times, not wanting to waste shots going right for the head from twenty meters out.

To the right were two vandals scurrying away from the crash site. Were they trying to escape? The lightbearer switched her aim to the one in front, firing another four times. One shot missed, but it was enough to kill her target.

The other vandal was a problem. The lightbearer adjusted her aim for it, but it vanished into thin air. She walked forward, confused. “Bluejay?”

“It probably cloaked itself! It’s gotta still be there!”

She watched the spot where it had disappeared, tracking her aim at the speed the vandals had been running. There it was. A shimmer of light reflecting off something unnatural.

The lightbearer fired twice, but both bullets kicked up dirt. It was hard to hit the cloaked vandal, and it was quickly gaining ground as it fled the scene. Two more shots. More misses. Another two. Both misses…

And then she was interrupted by a searing pain to the stomach. The last vandal had shot her with its wire rifle, square in her torso. The shot knocked the lightbearer to the ground, her breath escaping her for a moment. On her side, she lined up her sights with the vandal still standing near the ship. One last crack from her scout hit the sniper in the joint of its leg, sending it to the ground with a frustrated cry.

“Hang on, hang on,” Bluejay said, materializing in front of her. He engulfed himself with light, directing it at the wound. The shot had pierced the armor, leaving the lightbearer’s skin blackened and her insides fiery with pain. But within fifteen seconds, it was patched up by her ghost. Organs reshaped, skin grafted, metal fibers weaving back together.

She took a deep breath, staring at her now healed stomach. The sweat on her forehead felt cold as life returned to her face behind the mask. “Thank you, Bluejay. That was incredible.”

“That’s my bad. This armor’s terrible.” Bluejay sounded embarrassed more than anything. “I had so little thread and glimmer to make it happen, we’ll have to get you something substantial as soon as possible.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, patting her ghost with her free hand. The other tightened its grip on the scout rifle, and she used it to prop herself up back to her feet.

This was just as the Warlord’s dance with the captain came to a close. His rifle had been knocked to the side, but the captain’s shield had been whittled away. The lightbearer just caught his final move.

Bruce tore at one of the captain’s free arms with amazing strength, causing it lose its balance and terribly miss a swing with its blades. Bruce’s Strongbow-D materialized in his hands, and he shot both of the captain’s sword arms. The blasts echoed off the hull of the skiff, followed by the captain’s roars of pain.

The lightbearer approached as Bruce planted his steel-armored foot on the captain’s chest. He lowered the shotgun, aiming in the center of the Fallen’s four eyes, and delivered the final blow.

The Warlord stepped off his victim, and glanced at the lightbearer. His mark was stained with white liquid, marring the design of the twin eagles. His armor was covered in scratches and soot. And yet, beneath his helmet, the lightbearer could feel his crooked smile.

“Now that,” he sighed, picking his rifle up off the ground, “Was a damn fight. Haven’t squared off with a captain that talented in years.” His helmet dematerialized, and he wiped the sweat off his brow. “How’d you do? Any sign of your powers?”

The lightbearer shook her head. “No. I never felt the Light, whatever that’s supposed to be like. Took a bad shot to the stomach, but Bluejay patched me up.”

“Hmph,” Bruce grunted. “You’ll get used to it.” He looked over the carnage. The Warlord must have felled a few dozen Fallen all on his own. “Did anything get away?”

The lightbearer thought back to the cloaked vandal scurrying off. That thing couldn’t cause too much trouble. “Not that I saw,” she lied. Best not to anger the Warlord because of her amateur marksmanship.

“Good.” Bruce flexed his shoulders, still shaking himself out from the fight. “We ought to take care of this one, then.”

The lightbearer was bending over to inspect one of the dead Fallen’s pistols when she noticed what he meant. The vandal who had sniped her was lying against the skiff’s charred hull, holding two of its hands against the leg wound. It was mostly silent, scratchy breaths through tubes hooked up to its face notwithstanding.

“It’s leaking a lot of ether from its wound,” Bluejay said, appearing next to the lightbearer. His voice was tender. “We should put it out of its misery.”

“Make it quick,” Bruce said, his tone wavering more on spite.

The lightbearer realized he was talking to her, though. She held the shock pistol tightly, glancing at the dying vandal’s eyes. They were narrow, glowing a light blue. It muttered something gravelly in its language.

“I said make it quick,” Bruce muttered. “We shouldn’t stoop to their level.”

She raised the pistol, aiming between the eyes. The vandal closed its eyes, one last hoarse breath escaping it. And she fired.

Bruce stared at the wreckage. “They’ll know a skiff’s missing soon. And they’re not gonna miss this thing if they fly by.” The Titan kicked the hull, making a sharp ping of metal against metal. “We’ll have to pack up and leave tomorrow.”

He turned to the lightbearer. “Nice job, kid. You might make a decent Risen yet.”

The lightbearer broke her gaze from the vandal she’d just executed. It was hard not to feel like that was in cold blood. She feigned a smile and looked down at her hands. What was special about her? She was running out of time to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, the lightbearer dreamt for the first time.

She dreamed of a world with no sky. She stood on a rock no larger than she was tall, hurtling around open space. Around her was endless debris and dust, the light that faded through the cracks a dark purple. She felt as if she were choking.

She dreamed of a snake. It coiled around her leg, squeezing tight. She welcomed it like an old friend as it enveloped her like a warm blanket. Every muscle constricted by its grip felt stronger than ever. The snake hissed softly as it wrapped around her stomach, encasing her like a cocoon. She had never felt safer.

She dreamed of a fire. It circled her, burning down a town around her. At her feet lay an animal akin to a wolf. She dreamed it was dead, but she felt its heart beating. Its eyes opened, crackling with an electric blue.

She dreamed of a tyrant. It emerged from the fire, the destruction a fitting coronation. Its crown melted in the flame, burning away its eyes, before its arms were lopped off from behind. The assassin hobbled forward to the lightbearer and her canine. Its arms were twisted machinations, somehow withstanding the fire.

She dreamed of the assassin. It closed in on her face, something akin to laughter escaping its broken mouth. The snake had reached her neck. It hissed back at the traitor. She felt the life escaping her.

She dreamed of bones. The bones made her cry. They were majestic things, and they knew more about her than she knew of herself. But they were not to be trusted. Why did she still turn one over in her hands? Its sweet whispers had a touch of venom, couldn’t she see that? Was that someone else pleading to her?

Finally, she dreamt of the world with no sky again. The debris was aflame, but this fire didn’t soothe her. She choked on the smoke. This place wasn’t safe anymore. And yet her feet were planted to the tiny rock she had made her home.

A distant thunder jolted the lightbearer awake. Her heart was beating fast, and she had to catch her breath. She swore she had felt the ground shake. Bluejay appeared in midair above her. “Lightbearer? What’s wrong?”

She pressed her hand to her head. A cold sweat. “Nothing. Just some vivid dreams.”

“They could be important. Visions from the Traveler, maybe. Tell me about them, I might be able to work it out,” Bluejay replied.

The lightbearer shook her head. “I don’t know. I think they were just dreams.”

She heard the thunder again, but this time it sounded closer. And it didn’t sound quite like thunder. More like… cannons? “What is that, Bluejay?”

The ground shook harder this time. Bluejay swiveled nervously. “I don’t know!”

Through the tent, in the distance, they heard screams. The lightbearer scrambled to action, pushing back the tent flaps and crawling outside. “Bluejay, armor, and my gun, now!”

Her gauntlets materialized around her hands, and her helmet appeared around her head. She had worn the rest of her bodysuit to bed. After her hunt with Bruce, she’d been quiet, retiring for the night as the camp packed up to leave in the morning. She was disappointed she hadn’t gotten the chance to find the Light.

The Light would’ve been useful right about now.

The lightbearer and Bluejay exited the tent, horrified at the scene. It was still the middle of the night, but the east side of the camp was ablaze. The culprit was a Fallen skiff that roared overhead, firing its arc cannons down indiscriminately. One blast landed in the dirt a dozen yards from the lightbearer, knocking her off her feet. The skiff sped off, preparing for another pass.

“Let’s get to the fire! We have to make sure people aren’t trapped!” Bluejay yelled. The lightbearer was already on the way, sprinting past the command tent as her scout rifle appeared in her hands. Already, the Risen and her ghost seemed to know what the other was thinking. This was going to get ugly.

Many of the tents had already been packed up in preparation for the morning, but those that remained in the east were either on fire or absent in place of a crater. There’s a commotion as people floundered around aimlessly, panicked and not sure of what to do. The lightbearer heard horses whinnying in fright, people screaming in pain and fear.

No guards in sight. No sign of the Warlord. Time to be a leader.

“Everyone, get to cover and spread out!” she yelled over the commotion. She found her voice had the same authority Bruce’s had. “Protect children, but be ready to run from cover to cover! The skiff’s cannons take time to travel to the ground!”

On cue, the skiff’s engines roared on approach behind her. “Now! Get to cover!” She leapt behind a tent, next to a woman already hiding there. The three or four dozen people had hid as well, still not quieting down though.

The cover helped to decrease targets for the skiff, but did little to help block the shots. The lightbearer saw a couple tents hopelessly vaporized by the arc cannons. People hiding were either knocked away violently or disintegrated themselves. The lightbearer gasped in horrified shock.

A second skiff approached from the east. It was slowing on arrival though, swiveling sideways. On the tail end were small black holes. Deployment points.

“Shit,” the lightbearer muttered. The grip on her scout rifle tightened. Still no sign of Bruce, or any of the warriors with faces painted red. She turned to the woman next to her. She wore a bandana, which the lightbearer recognized from her first night in camp. “Hi, sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Nadiya,” the woman said. She was frightened, but the lightbearer had no other option.

“Okay Nadiya,” she continued, “I need you to lead these people towards the command tent. You need to get Bruce up, but these people need some sort of shelter. Do you all have a plan for this?”

Nadiya sniffled, shaking her head. “No, no, I mean, I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell us if he did.”

The lightbearer placed her hand on Nadiya’s shoulder. She felt her voice soften. “Calm down. Don’t worry. I’ll hold off the Fallen, but you need to lead these people to get help. Can you manage?”

Nadiya gulped and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, the lightbearer saw Fallen straddling the deposit points on the skiff. Small blue bolts of pistol fire darted around towards the hiding villagers, who were whipped into a frenzy once again.

“Okay. You can do this,” the lightbearer said. She stared into Nadiya’s eyes, trying to appear confident. Her voice didn’t shake. Her grip was strong and reassuring. “I’m going to get you all out of this. Now go.”

She grabbed her scout rifle and stood, Nadiya following her lead. The lightbearer stepped into the clearing, facing the skiff. A dozen Fallen dregs dropped to the ground thirty meters away.

“Everyone! Follow Nadiya to safety! I’ll hold them off!” she yelled. Her voice boomed. The people hurdled over tents and packages lit on fire by broken lamps or the arc cannon’s destruction. They streamed past her.

The lightbearer stood in the center, bracing herself against the current of people. She heard Nadiya’s voice behind her, struggling to appear confident. “Follow me! Get out of the way!”

The people had almost finished streaming past her, leaving the Fallen in plain view. A few slow traveling bolts almost caught one of the villagers, who the lightbearer shoved out of the way. “Keep going!” she yelled. Not exactly comforting.

The Fallen stood as a line, facing her. It seemed to be a challenge. She was alone. Well, she had Bluejay, at least.

And plenty of bullets.

She raised her scout, closed her right eye to aim, and pulled. The dregs returned fire, but the lightbearer’s rifle was faster. The bullets flew right into the dregs, as their bolts of blue lazily traveled across the clearing. Her arms swiveled from target to target, slicing through their ranks like butter.

Fifteen shots, nine dregs down. Her aim was improving. She grasped the air beside her for a fresh magazine that Bluejay transmatted into her hand from safely in her head. A quick reload as she marched forward towards the dregs.

They darted for cover themselves now, peeking out and firing at the lightbearer without being exposed. She clipped three of them in the arms, taking a few arc bolts as penance. They made her wince, but they were weak in comparison to a Risen’s armor. Even these scraps that Bluejay had threaded together haphazardly.

The dregs realized that as well, and two metal objects were hurled at the lightbearer’s feet. “Grenades!” Bluejay yelped.

The lightbearer jumped backward, feeling herself pulled out of reality for a split second. Her rifle felt heavier, all of a sudden. Had it loaded itself?

No time to dwell on that. The two grenades explode in flashes of arc energy, only tickling the lightbearer from a few steps back but blinding enough for her to dart for cover.

She caught her breath as her vision repaired itself. “That was incredible!” Bluejay blurted out. “I think you might be a-”

“Hang on!” the lightbearer cut him off. She couldn’t get distracted. The skiff was dropping off another eight Fallen, this time vandals, armed with spears and bulky wire rifles. She had no chance if she had to take a moment repairing wounds from another blast akin to the one she’d taken to the stomach earlier. Now was the time to let instinct take over.

The lightbearer leapt out from behind her hiding place, pelting more Fallen with bullets. A few more down. A line of blue sped towards her. She dodged to the left, her gun refilling again. Two shots to the sniper as revenge.

Her scout was more effective at long range, but there were too many Fallen taking pot shots at her. Time to get into the thick of it. She rushed forward, closing distance. Her hand reached up in the air, pulling a red hot knife out of nothing. She flicked it toward one of the vandals in the firing line. It landed square in the face, leaving ether to escape its head before the knife exploded, knocking a couple more vandals to the ground.

The lightbearer dodged another shot too close for comfort. The vandals knocked to the ground singed with fire, their red and orange clothes burning away. Two shots each put them out of their misery. A dreg got too confident and leapt towards the lightbearer. One quick swing of her scout crumpled its chest, sending it back to the floor.

And for the first time, the lightbearer felt the thrill of combat that Bruce had spoken so much about. Weaving in and out of the Fallen’s fire, dodging shots and returning the favor. Ducking under a swinging blade and punching back, sidestepping a jab from a spear before blasting the assailant in the face. Pulling knives from nothing to throw, finding a grenade in her hands that she tossed to hiding dregs, which exploded violently.

The skiff dropped off another dozen Fallen, this time a mix of dregs and vandals. They were lambs to a slaughter. The lightbearer had found her footing, cutting down the Fallen with ease. Her instinct pulled her into a dance of combat, each movement perfectly choreographed to dodge and weave, and to deliver destruction onto her opponents. _Two shots. Throw another knife. Duck. Block. Kick. Jump. Three more shots. Punch._

The Fallen were decimated. The lightbearer killed the last vandal with its own blade, dodging a swing before grabbing its arm and forcing it to decapitate itself. Her strength overpowered it, especially with the swing’s momentum on her side.

A moment to catch her breath. The air was touched with smoke, the still smoldering embers of a few Fallen cut down by her knives or grenades. The lightbearer breathed hard, hands on her hips, rifle on the ground, impaled within a dreg after she’d run out of ammo.

Surrounded by her own handiwork, the lightbearer sighed relief. This was the most alive she’d felt since being resurrected.

But it had just been the first wave. The skiff that had dropped the Fallen off had pivoted in the other direction, starting to drift away. It fired a few more blasts of its cannon to the abandoned end of the camp. The lightbearer felt helpless all of a sudden. It would just fly off and restock for another attack.

At least, it would’ve. A bellowing blast behind the lightbearer caused her to flinch, a rocket flying overhead. It left a smoking trail before exploding violently against the skiff’s engine exhausts. The damage sent the skiff careening down into the forest to the east.

The lightbearer turned around to see Bruce, fully armored, standing from his knee. Braced against his shoulder was an enormous rocket launcher, still smoking from the fire.

“Fantastic work, Dakota!” Bruce laughed, the massive launcher transmatting away. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

“Where the hell were you?” the lightbearer spit back, marching up to him. She stopped close to his face, finally over tiptoeing around the Warlord. The anger boiled within her chest, making it hard to find the right words.

“Watch your tone,” the Titan grumbled. “I figured you had the infantry covered while I found my launcher. If not for me we’d have a lot more Fallen on the way back.”

Bluejay appeared between the two Risen. “Um, we’re not out of the woods yet!”

The lightbearer shifted her gaze past Bruce, where the first skiff was approaching from the west. “No, we’re not.”

She pushed past the Titan, preparing for the next wave of Fallen. “Bluejay, any ideas for ammo?”

Bluejay looked back nervously at the Titan, who glowered at the two of them. He hadn’t taken being brushed off well. “The Fallen you killed had plenty of glimmer on them. I can collect it instantaneously, so I’ve already made you more ammo.”

“How?”

“It’s reprogrammable matter. But it does function as currency back in the City, so I won’t make more than you need.”

“Just keep me stocked as we go.” The lightbearer reloaded her scout as she jogged forward, watching the skiff fire down on the people corralled on the west side of camp. She was past caring about the Warlord’s ego. There were people to protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! The past two sections are my first attempts at writing action in the Destiny universe, so let me know what you think is good about it and what I can improve upon. Appreciate it very much, hope you are enjoying the story!


	7. Chapter 7

By the time the lightbearer had passed the command tent, the next skiff was slowing to a stop. Much of the west side of camp was aflame, and people ran around in a panic. The lightbearer checked the safety on her rifle and planted her feet. Time to keep up the fight.

The skiff dropped a dozen dregs at first. The lightbearer marched forward, pelting half of them with rifle ammo. The dregs were already a pushover for her. Despite the sharp teeth they bared on ugly faces, it was hard to feel threatened. Their pistols were ineffective against Risen, and they didn’t really have the chance to develop a fighting formation before they were torn apart.

The lightbearer had almost felt like celebrating before she was interrupted. A strange, electronic warble cut through the air. “Bluejay,” she asked, “That wasn’t a ghost glitch or anything, right?”

“No,” her ghost replied, “I’m afraid it’s a little more troubling.”

The ground was lit by fire, and the skiff was now lit by a strange purple. A large orb descended slowly, flanked by many more vandals as well as a large captain. The orb stared directly at the lightbearer, at least, it seemed like it. Perhaps it only looked like an eye.

“That’s a servitor!” Bluejay said. “The Fallen worship them, in a way. But they’re extremely powerful.”

The servitor fired a purple ball of light towards the lightbearer. She ran to the side, escaping its small blast. “I can see that. Any tips?”

“It can shield the Fallen, making them impervious to damage. So make it a priority target!”

The captain started towards the lightbearer. It walked slowly, a challenge, coupled by it flexing its bottom arms while unsheathing two shock blades with its top two. “Yeah, I think I’ve got other things on my plate first,” the lightbearer said.

She raised her scout rifle again and fired three times. Each shot seemed to glance off the captain, who didn’t even flinch. It simply continued forward, a shimmering blue light encircling it.

“It has an arc shield,” Bluejay said. “Your gun isn’t going to punch through it on its own without you wasting a lot of time.”

“So?” the lightbearer asked back, flustered. She was backpedaling, trying to keep space between herself and the captain. Behind it, she saw vandals firing into crowds of people. She didn’t have time.

“You have powers, don’t you?” Bluejay said. “Apply yourself!”

The lightbearer closed her eyes and took a breath. Without being in the thick of combat, harnessing the Light felt less like instinct and more like a trick. She slowly closed her fingers around a burning knife, hot to the touch but comforting.

She raised her arm, aiming at the captain. It stopped, pivoting its angular legs in the dirt. One well timed flick and the knife would explode against its head.

 _Thwick_. The knife tumbled end over end through the air towards the captain’s head. It suddenly dropped to a crawl and closed the distance with surprising speed.

“Shit!” the lightbearer exclaimed. She fired two more times haphazardly, bullets once again ineffectual. The captain lunged for her, swiping at her legs. She jumped backwards, falling through a tent before bounding back up.

“Don’t telegraph the throw that hard!” Bluejay coached.

“I’m trying!” the lightbearer hissed back. The captain was already priming its legs for another pounce. It had stood tall before, but now seemed to prefer the predatory style of a cat. The lightbearer didn’t like it one bit.

The captain leapt forward. The lightbearer jumped up, clearing the captain’s shock blades, before landing and giving the captain a strong kick in the side. She couldn’t even back away again before the captain spun on the ground and swiped at her leg in retaliation.

One slice and she suddenly felt useless. The lightbearer collapsed to the ground in pain. The shock blade had cut right through her right leg’s armor, through her skin, all the way to the bone. The crackling electricity made for something that resembled instant cauterization, but there was no way to put weight on the leg. She cried in pain.

“I’ll heal you when I get the chance,” Bluejay said within her head, “But you need more practice.”

The captain stood back to its feet, now towering over the lightbearer. It clutched its abdomen with one free hand, before holding a blade down to her. It sparked with energy only a couple inches from the her neck, making already laborious breathing dangerous.

“Well, this could be worse than I thought,” Bluejay said.

The lightbearer stared at the captain’s face. It couldn’t see her eyes, but she felt the interlocking gaze. She stared, defiant, golden eyes undeterred by the threat of imminent death. And the captain returned the favor, staring cold, unwavering. It had won its duel. A more mismatched fight than it had bargained for, definitely, but a win is a win.

But a win this was not.

The captain was slammed away with tremendous force by a gleaming blue wall. The electricity dissipated to show Bruce, shoulder hunched over to make himself a battering ram.

He looked down at his fellow Risen. “Don’t be a pain in the ass. I’m gonna go finish this up.” With that, the Warlord jogged off towards the rest of the fight. The sounds of cracking rifles made the lightbearer realize his guards had joined the defense.

Bluejay materialized above her leg. “What a gentleman.” He beamed light onto her wound, stitching the tissue and fiber back together. “Next time try not to get carved up, and you might have the last laugh with him.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I’m serious,” Bluejay said, turning to face her. “I don’t mean to mock you. Captains are serious business.”

“I know,” the lightbearer sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Let’s make sure the damn thing is even dead.”

She walked over to the captain, who had been thrown fifteen feet aside after being pulverized by Bruce. It lay still against a collapsed tent, its abdomen sunken like a deflated balloon. Bluejay hovered above it, beaming light onto it.

“Scanning for vital signs. I think it’s just barely alive…”

The captain confirmed that suspicion, jerking forward and swiping at Bluejay. Its claws just barely missed the ghost, who zipped behind the lightbearer emitting a string of panicked beeps. The lightbearer fired her scout into the captain three times, twice in the head, one in the chest for good measure. Its arms fell lifelessly.

“Remind me not to be so forthright next time,” Bluejay whispered.

The lightbearer fired into the captain’s head two more times, shaving off more of the armor plating to reveal a face wounded beyond repair. “Gross,” she muttered. “But I think you’re safe now.”

Bluejay returned to scanning the captain’s chest. “Definitely dead now. This dude was carrying a pretty impressive knife, if you want it. Atom sharp.”

The lightbearer placed her scout rifle on the ground, crouching down to observe. She unsheathed it, the straps holding it to the captain’s torso severed by her bullets. It was maybe six inches long, and slightly curved. The blade glinted in the distant firelight, the edge so thin the lightbearer couldn’t quite make out it’s ending even when squinting. The lightbearer stabbed at the air a few times to test its weight. It felt incredibly natural, like an extension of her will.

“Ought to be useful,” Bluejay said. “Especially if you are what I think you are.”

Before the ghost could finish that thought, a loud blast filled the air. Bluejay zapped up the knife as the lightbearer grabbed her rifle and stood. The skiff was speeding away, but Bruce and his guards were still busy with plenty more Fallen. Muzzle fire and beams of blue light lit up the battle, with one figure hulking above them all.

“That’s enough!” the Warlord roared. He exploded with arc energy, jumping three feet into the air before bringing his fists down on the ground. The three Fallen closest to him disappeared almost instantaneously, only leaving behind wispy coils of electricity.

The Warlord bounced back to his feet, charging after another vandal. He still glowed blue, bolts of lightning sparking off him onto anything conductive that lay in his way. He shoulder charged into the vandal, causing it to practically evaporate.

What few Fallen were left were trying to evacuate, dregs haplessly running towards the tree line while vandals kept low to the ground, trying to scurry away undetected. Bruce’s guards fired at what they could see, pelting Fallen in the back but leaving quite a few to vanish into the night.

Bruce took out his rifle as the blue light around him diminished, taking potshots of his own towards the fleeing pirates. The lightbearer started towards him, but stopped when she noticed a body strewn on the ground before her.

The green bandana made it unmistakable. The lightbearer crouched down to brush her hands across the still face of Nadiya, closing her eternally frightened eyes. It felt like the right thing to do.

She had been shot by a vandal’s wire rifle in much the same manner that the lightbearer had earlier in the day. But without a ghost to repair the wound, the organ damage and loss of blood were irreparable. It was a shot no tourniquet could solve.

“I’m sorry,” the lightbearer whispered. She was the only one of Bruce’s servants whose name she’d learned. And she’d inadvertently sent her to her death.

She bit her lip. That wasn’t true. She’d told her to find help. Not to charge into battle. Nadiya’s blood was only literally on her hands.

The lightbearer looked up to the Warlord, still several dozen meters away. He’d stopped shooting, catching his breath as his guards filtered back in around him. How many people had died on their watch tonight? At least a few dozen.

She glanced back at Nadiya. How many lives ended? This bloodshed was as much on her as it was on the Warlord. She could have been faster out of her tent, more efficient with her fighting, better on containment. She’d discovered some essence of her Light and decided to flaunt it against the captain instead of being optimal. How many lives was that difference responsible for?

Her hands had started shaking as she dwelled on this. The lightbearer closed her fists, taking a deep breath. This was irrational. She was new at this, she couldn’t expect herself to be perfect.

No. The blame had to be on someone who had been at this for years. Who deliberately led innocents on a nomadic lifestyle in a world designed to hurt them, with nothing to protect themselves but the will of one man.

A gunshot pierced through the night. It didn’t faze the lightbearer, but it had come so long after the shooting had stopped that she glanced up at the Warlord’s ensemble. Only to see Bruce aiming his rifle at the tumbling body of one of his guards, barrel still smoking.

“What the hell?!” The lightbearer hurried over, Bluejay flying at her side. “You’re killing your own men now?”

The Warlord lowered his gun, turning over to the lightbearer quickly approaching. “Calm down, Dakota. I told you we have consequences for failure.”

“So your idea of consequences is cold-blooded murder?” The lightbearer could imagine his smug look inside his helmet, staring back at her as if she were a child. Yeah, she had been reborn yesterday. But that didn’t make her a fool.

“Murder,” Bruce snarled. “Murder implies guilt. This man was guilty of committing friendly fire. Wounding one of my men through nothing but stupidity. I believe that _that_ would quantify guilt, not the ensuing punishment.”

“Dozens of your people dead, and all you can think about is how to justify more killing.”

“Watch your tongue, newborn,” one of the guards said.

The lightbearer shifted her gaze to the speaker, removing her helmet from her head. Now he could see her fiery eyes glare back at him. “And you watch yours, pawn.”

“Excuse me, I don’t think this is a fight we ought to be picking,” Bluejay said, trying to keep his voice hushed down but squeaking with nerves.

“Listen to your ghost,” Bruce grumbled. He began to turn away.

“Ironic, coming from you,” the lightbearer shot back. “What are you so afraid of in the City? That you’ll be held accountable for once?”

The Warlord seemed to freeze in position, tilting his helmet back towards the lightbearer.

“Oh, that got your attention, yeah? Being responsible for the deaths of how many of your people is just another day at the office, but being judged for that? That’s what scares you.”

The lightbearer saw Bruce’s grip on his rifle tighten. But she paid it no mind. “You’ve convinced yourself that what people are fighting for in the City, what _guardians_ are fighting for, is wrong. Just because it helps push your narrative. That you’re somehow in the right for killing people whenever you want.

“Tell me, Bruce. How many have you killed? How many of your own citizens? How many _Risen_?”

He moved with practically blinding speed, stepping forward and punching her right in the face. The lightbearer’s hair whipped back as she was sent to the floor, more out of surprise than force.

“I won’t hesitate to make it another,” he said angrily. “Stand down, Dakota. Don’t fight what you don’t understand.”

Bluejay made a shocked beep and vanished from existence.

The lightbearer felt the warmth on her cheek, and a drop of blood against her fingers. She’d seen what Bruce could do to the Fallen; if he’d wanted it to, that punch could’ve knocked her head clean off without her helmet on. He’d hesitated. He didn’t hate her yet.

The feeling was not mutual.

“I understand you plenty,” she growled, leaping to her feet before training her scout’s sights on his helmet. “Ever since you were resurrected, you’ve decided that the Light was an opportunity for power instead of a commitment to being better.

“You’re selfish, uncaring, and worst of all, an idiot. You really think that camping under the stars is the best way to stay undetected from the Fallen? That one Risen, even two if I stayed, would be enough to protect all these people? Not without walls.

“I’d be sorry for you that you’re too short-sighted to have thought that through, but the reality is you’ve probably been ambushed like this before by the Fallen. How many people have died on your watch, because of your decisions, because they foolishly looked for a role model? And for all those times, how easy was it to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault?

“Selfish, uncaring, and stupid. No matter your ghost doesn’t talk to you. It probably spends every waking moment regretting its choice.”

The Warlord simply looked back at her, face still hidden behind his helmet. He now refused to respond. What was he waiting for? His guards had all trained their sights on the lightbearer, waiting for the word to fire.

She bit her lip in frustration. It was time to be honest. “Let me take these people to the City. It’ll be just as hard a journey as you’ve had as a caravan, but it’ll lead to something better. You can live on in the wild, but don’t subject these people to the same pain.”

Still no reaction.

The lightbearer bit harder. She shuffled her arms, keeping her sights trained on his head. “Why won’t you answer me?”

A few more seconds of nothing. Finally, the Warlord stepped forward to the barrel of her scout rifle, stopping only when it clinked against his metal helmet.

“Go on, shoot me. Shoot me, and watch as my most loyal gun you down in response. Gun down your ghost if it tries to resurrect you. Or maybe they’ll watch my ghost rez me, and crush your little Bluejay with my own fist.”

The lightbearer stared, searching for some faint sign of emotion behind the helmet. Was he bluffing? Or just that confident?

“So you’re not gonna shoot me? Test my theory?”

“Just stand down! This isn’t a fight you can win,” Bluejay said within her head, trying to hide the fright in his voice.

She shifted her grip again. Her eyes were squinting, as if it were difficult to make out the target only a few feet from her face. She felt beads of sweat rolling down her neck.

“That’s the difference between you and me. I’ve got the stones to do what most Risen don’t,” Bruce said.

He swiped at the rifle with his left arm, knocking it out of the way. The lightbearer accidentally pulled the trigger in panic, the bullet kicking up dirt. Bruce wrenched it out of her hands, snapping it in half with his armored knee. The lightbearer stepped back in surprise.

“I’m giving you one last chance. Benefit of the doubt. Fall in line, leave my camp, or I’ll make your ghost a dreg’s new favorite toy,” the Warlord barked. He turned away, making his way back to the command tent. “We’re still leaving in the morning.”

The Warlord set off, each step hammering against the scorched earth. The lightbearer looked around her. A dozen trained guns, a camp in ruins, and the air still with tension.

Why not play the Warlord’s games one last time?


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce’s guards led the lightbearer back to her tent. At least, four of them did, walking in a row behind her the whole way back. She could practically feel their eyes pressed against her back.

The rest went to go put out fires, both figuratively and literally. The panic around the camp had calmed down now that the Fallen weren’t on their doorstep anymore, but there was much to be done. Tents were trampled, burned, or even left with no trace. There were quite a few dead bodies, but more importantly were the injured who needed attention.

The lightbearer observed people coming together to help each other. Bandaging wounds, packing away damaged tents, offering a shoulder to lean or cry on. All while their leader sauntered his way back to his tent to sleep off the rest of the night.

She glowered at the thought, but if she was going to come out of this unscathed, she’d have to temporarily abide by Bruce’s rules. Especially now that she was without a weapon. That meant walking strictly where his guards wanted her to, and _that_ meant not trying to join the cleanup efforts.

It pained her to not be able to help, but she had to think things through before night’s end. Had to figure out her exact plan, and have a word with Bluejay.

Her ghost was silent, hiding wherever ghosts went when they became disembodied voices. Bluejay had been so insistent that she stand down and kowtow to Bruce’s instructions. Had he not seen her just find the Light only moments prior? If there was one person to challenge the Warlord, it had to be her. Bluejay seemed to think otherwise.

Eventually, the lightbearer reached her tent. The four guards stopped, still aiming their guns. Seems she was still a threat.

“Thank you for the escort, by the way,” she said snidely, “I’m gonna grab some shuteye.”

No reaction from any of them. The lightbearer ducked into her tent, which was mostly undisturbed except for the lantern having been knocked over.

Bluejay reappeared in front of her now that they had privacy. “Look, if you’re ever going to be that reckless again, I’m going to need therapy.”

The lightbearer rolled her eyes, laying back against the fur rug. “What did you expect me to do? Stand by and do nothing? That’s why you chose me?”

“Not do nothing, pick the right time to respond!” Bluejay snapped back. For the first time, her ghost sounded something close to angry. “If you are going to take on Bruce, do you really think the best time for that was after you’d just used all your effort on Fallen?”

“He killed one of his own people, Bluejay. I couldn’t just brush it off and wait.”

The ghost looked down at the ground, emitting a low whine.

The lightbearer cleared her throat. “That’s _not_ why you chose me. I don’t know much for sure, but I’m certain of that.”

“I know. Of course not,” Bluejay said. “I just worry. You’re still new to all of this, and Bruce is right about a lot. If you had let your anger get the best of you there, I don’t think I ever would’ve gotten the chance to revive you.”

The lightbearer bit her lip. “I guess so.”

“Guardian, I’m sorry to be harsh, or to try to talk you down. It’s not because I don’t believe in you, it’s because we need to be smart until you come into your own. We can’t be reckless until you’ve earned the right to be. If that makes sense.”

The lightbearer cracked a smile. “Yeah it does.” She brushed aside some hair matted on her forehead. “And thanks for calling me Guardian.”

“Hm,” Bluejay hummed, “I mean it. I knew when I resurrected you that you were someone special, someone powerful. So thank you for being a good person, too. I think that’s more important to the people in the City, anyways.”

The lightbearer nodded, her smile fading as she thought. “I just don’t know if I’ve earned that title yet. I want to be good, better than Bruce for sure. But all those people who died tonight, I could’ve done more. I’m just as responsible as Bruce was, even if I didn’t realize it yet.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, though,” the lightbearer sputtered. She could feel the fire in her chest well up as the grief came back. “They look up to him as their leader. I’m just as capable as he is. They should expect the same from me. And yet dozens died on my watch.”

“No, it isn’t,” Bluejay said more forcefully, floating directly above her head. “People die. People have always died, and they always will. We just happen to live in a time with unjust death. But not every death has to be someone’s fault.”

The ghost spun its shell around as it thought. “Don’t get me wrong. In my eye, this lies on the shoulders of the Titan Warlord as much as it does the House of Scar. If he’d brought them to the City, their lives wouldn’t be dependent on one person’s strength.

“But even if you take Bruce out of the picture, you’re not to blame. I’m sorry to break this to you, but you can’t save everyone. The important thing is to try.”

“I don’t think the dead will be commending me for failing to protect them,” the lightbearer responded.

“No. But they won’t be saying anything,” Bluejay said. “It’s morbid. But that comes with being a Guardian.”

There was a brief silence as the lightbearer considered her ghost’s words.

“Look,” Bluejay continued, “That you’re so bothered by this means I chose right. That I chose someone who cares for people, cares about doing the right thing. That’s the kind of person I think the Traveler wanted the ghosts to choose. Someone strong enough to push back the Darkness, but also a role model for the people that survive.

“You can’t fall victim to trying to be perfect. There’s a logical fallacy with being a Guardian. That you’re directly responsible for every death on your watch. You’re just one person. The world’s failures aren’t yours to bear.

“And besides, what you did today was anything but a failure. You drove back the Fallen before Bruce or his guards did, and discovered your attunement to the Light. Your actions saved people. It’s just harder to quantify the worth of a preventative measure.

“You should be proud. I am.”

The lightbearer nodded, looking past Bluejay towards the ceiling of the tent. She knew deep down he was right, that she ought to be proud. But it was hard to feel good about things when the camp was in such disarray. When the Fallen might be gearing up for another attack. When Bruce hadn’t learned a thing.

“We need to have a plan,” the lightbearer said. “Bruce is leaving in the morning, which doesn’t give us much time. But I want to give these people the opportunity to follow me east. We can lead them to a ship, get them to the City. Give them a life they deserve.”

“We’ll need a larger ship the more people we convince. Which means we’ll likely have to travel much further on foot,” Bluejay replied. He shook side to side, a frustrated motion. “But the important thing now is that we even get people to follow us. And the Warlord isn’t going to just let you make them that offer.”

“Which means I’m going to have to fight him in some capacity,” the lightbearer concluded. She pursed her lips. Saying it out loud made it a lot more foreboding.

“Yes. Which brings me to my next point. Regarding your abilities,” Bluejay said. “I’m sure you noticed the nature of your powers to some extent, even through that trance you were in.”

“Mhm. When I was dodging shots, my scout rifle was instantly reloading itself. And I was able to form knives and grenades out of nothing, both of them exploding with fire.”

“Exactly. What you harnessed was solar energy, one of the three main elements a Risen can control. Bruce uses arc energy, and finally there’s void, which is a lot more difficult to wrap your head around.

“But even more importantly,” Bluejay continued, “Is the manner in which you used the solar energy. Creating knives, making a practical use out of your agility… Telltale signs of a Hunter.”

She was a Hunter. It seemed like it should be a huge revelation, that the two were getting to the bottom of her powers, but the lightbearer felt as if she’d already known. She was a Hunter, and she had been from the moment she’d been resurrected. She just hadn’t realized it yet.

The lightbearer conjured a flaming knife in her hand. Without being in combat, she now had time to study it. It was hard to tell where the blade ended and the fire began. Surely it burned, but the fire seemed unable to spread to her armor. Nor did the fire feel threatening. This was her fire, in her control. It couldn’t hurt her.

“A Gunslinger,” Bluejay said, analyzing the knife as well. “Hunters naturally gifted in harnessing solar Light. Famous for their ultimate ability, the Golden Gun.”

The name sounded majestic to the lightbearer. “The Golden Gun.” She could imagine it, a blazing pistol that shot pure concentrated fire. She knew the feeling without having ever wielded it before, a heat that welled up in her chest and burst out of her entire body. Pure, unadulterated solar energy.

She took a deep breath. Within her, the fire was stirring out of excitement. But she couldn’t help it. Knowing what she was for certain, it was like reuniting with an old friend. An old friend who was begging to come out and play.

“Okay, well that’s something we can work with,” the lightbearer said. “But I don’t want to just charge up to him and shoot him. If there’s a way to do this peacefully, I want to take a stab at it.”

“Ironic phrasing,” Bluejay quipped. “I don’t know about that, though. I agree, you can’t just expect to cut him down and be done with things. You haven’t used any super before. Harnessing that much Light at once is difficult.”

“You saw me out there today. I’m a natural.”

“But the stakes are higher here,” Bluejay said. “You were fighting Fallen before. Even without training, you were able to take down dozens. Not until you faced a captain did you have any serious problems.” Bluejay expanded his shell, emphasizing his point. “A fellow Risen is much more powerful than some lowly Scar captain. If you fight Bruce fair, you’ll lose.”

“Well thanks for your moral support,” the lightbearer sighed. But she knew her ghost was right. The captain that had incapacitated her? Bruce had practically flattened it with seemingly little effort.

“So how _do_ I fight him, then?” the lightbearer said. “If controlling the Light to its full capacity is as difficult as you say, I can’t lead with my super. But I don’t have another weapon.”

“You keep saying that, but it’s not true,” Bluejay said, making something akin to a ghost’s laugh. In the lightbearer’s hand appeared the dead captain’s knife, feeling just as natural in her grip as when she’d found it.

“You’re a Hunter. It’s time you started acting like one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this chapter's a little short, just some set up for the conclusion of our lightbearer's story. I hope to have the final two sections posted within the next week. In the meantime, tell me what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

It was almost the break of dawn when Bruce awoke. The command tent was empty, the front entrance flaps folded aside so the Warlord could see two guards at the entrance. Besides what little moonlight streamed in from there, a single lantern provided light atop his command table.

Bruce rose from his rug. After he’d dealt with Dakota, he had rushed back here to get what little sleep he could. The girl was insubordinate, maybe even beyond that. Maybe taking on a fellow Risen as a second-in-command wasn’t the best idea.

He swore underneath his breath. Of course not. It had been short-sighted. From the minute Risen were resurrected nowadays, they seemed to blindly follow the drivel their ghosts told them about the Traveler. They refused to take the time to consider ulterior motives, to explore the world themselves, get a grasp for history. And by the time they reached the City, they were pretty much indoctrinated.

Perhaps Dakota would go the same way. Perhaps she’d change her mind. He wasn’t sure what to do with her now. Kill her before she grew too powerful? She might be too important an asset to simply kill and be done with…

The Warlord leaned over his command table, inspecting his equipment. His ghost had transmatted his armor away, leaving him in a jumpsuit to sleep in. Even without the heavy plasteel, his form was stocky. Bruce wasn’t sure if he’d met a Risen or human with shoulders as broad as his. And of course the beard was a point of pride.

He’d styled it after old legends of Vikings, an ancient tribe of plunderers somewhere north of the European Dead Zone who died out centuries before the Golden Age. Those were the people humanity ought to look up to now. Those that seized the day, that tore the fortune from life’s iron grip. Those who willed themselves to become legend.

Instead they cowered behind walls. The Warlord grunted as he studied the map on his table. The Traveler and its City was far south of the map’s margins, a great deal south of the sea that separated the North American Empire’s continent from its southern neighbor. Perhaps the walls were taller now, some fifty years later. Bruce could live a millennium without ever setting foot in that ideologue-driven City ever again.

Even just thinking to himself, Bruce couldn’t help but scoff. Back when he’d been led to the City hoping for some salvation or purpose, he learned a lot. He learned how the Risen there were honing their Light into disciplines, grouping each other up as classes. How they learned from each other, fought each other, inspired each other.

Bruce couldn’t deny he’d grown from that time. He’d learned that he could be among the greatest Titans, that the way he wielded arc energy made him one of their premier Strikers. Truly a force to be reckoned with.

But the City’s people live in a bubble. They take their Speaker’s word as gospel, trusting that what he says are the magical words of a dead god. Even Bruce’s ghost had said more than the Traveler since the Collapse.

And with that bubble comes complacency. They call themselves Guardians now? How fitting a name. They’re passive, reactionary. Hunters try to bring Fallen or dissenters to justice after the fact, instead of paving the way for civilization to expand once more. Warlocks spend their time studying what they’ve already proved to be capable of beating.

Finally, the Titans. Guarding. Planting their feet in the ground, and hoping that they’re strong enough to fend off whatever forces attack the City. Their last line of defense is their only one. The City waits until the war is right at its own gates before stepping into battle. In their desperate efforts to make the City into a stronghold, or even a community, the Guardians have let their citizens be in the most vulnerable position for collateral damage possible.

Despicable. It’s the easy solution, trying to make some giant metropolis. Having faith in the alien god that brought all of this destruction to Earth and the rest of the system. It’s easy because it lacks nuance. Out here in the wild, Bruce learned about the world more than the City’s Warlocks. He traversed more ground than the City’s Hunters.

And he got into a hell of a lot more fights than the City’s Titans.

Why should Bruce care what the Traveler wanted when it brought him back? The Traveler almost lost to the Darkness the first time around. And the way things looked in the system now, it sure wouldn’t stand a chance if it ever came back.

No. It was his duty to carve out some sense out of all that anguish, all that blind devotion. Bruce had his people, he had his adventure, and he had his knowledge. What the Cryptarchs could learn about the North American Empire from him…

Of course there were casualties every once in a while. Everywhere is hostile territory, not everyone is going to survive. The people in the City would hate that. They’d spin it to him being complicit in his people’s deaths. Or encouraging them.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. The Warlord’s body ached in a way that his ghost couldn’t magically fix. His mind more so. Years of this struggle, with the Fallen, with the City’s assassins, had taken its toll. They branded him a terrorist because he still dared to call himself a Warlord. Perhaps they should stop pretending humanity still owned Earth and started trying to carve a new niche.

Bruce took a deep breath. He was letting the girl get to him. All her questions, her doubt, her anger, it was driving him into a similar pit. He couldn’t lose sight of what was important. His people. It was time he rallied them together as they prepared to move further west.

“Ghost, my armor,” he muttered. Wherever the pesky contraption was, it conjured Bruce’s steel plating onto him. He had to be dressed like a Risen in front of his people. He had to show them the strength they had to aspire to if they were to survive this new world.

The armor had been worn down aesthetically over the years, but it remained more than functional. The blacks and blues of the armor had faded away, but Bruce loved the way it looked. Not to mention all the scratches and dents. It was armor that had been tested countless times, and had emerged victorious. A mark bearing the flag of an old civilization that Bruce aspired to. His armor was as blunt an instrument as a gun, and it sung one tune: he was a Titan, as strong as he was proud.

Bruce neglected to have the helmet transmatted on to him. It made him appear less personable, and it was a bit suffocating what with how long his beard had gotten. Each braid was a mark of pride, another thing to wear like a badge of honor.

He leaned back over the table and reached for his shotgun. As his right hand grasped the Strongbow’s handle, a knife whizzed through the air, landing right in one of the joints on his arm’s armor. Bruce was beyond surprised for the split second before it exploded in his face.

* * *

The lightbearer stood in the threshold of the command tent, twirling the captain’s knife between her fingers. Across the room, Bruce had been thrown to the ground by her exploding knife. More importantly, he wasn’t holding his gun.

She walked around the dining table as she heard gasps of pain from the Warlord. She saw him bring his ghost out, who fixed up the gruesome damage to his face. To a normal person, her throw would’ve been halfway to a death sentence. For a fellow Risen, it was merely a threat. Albeit an extremely painful one.

Bruce glowered at her from the ground, the skin on his face not quite done grafting. She stopped at his war table, looking over the guns laid out, his helmet, and the map. She pretended to be aloof, silent, watching him in her peripheral vision.

The Titan grunted as acknowledgement. “I assume you have decided not to accept my peace offering, then?”

The lightbearer snorted, brushing her hand on the Warlord’s prized Strongbow-D. “Peace offering? That’s what you call it? No, I guess not.”

“And yet you haven’t killed me yet.”

“No, I guess not.” The lightbearer looked the Warlord square in the eyes. “Bluejay?”

Her ghost appeared out of thin air, scanned the shotgun, and transmatted it away. Safely out of the field of play.

The Warlord chuckled, his face healed. Both Risens’ ghosts vanished, their respective tasks complete. “So what is this power play? Have you come to gloat? Intimidate me?”

Bruce stood back up, standing directly opposite from the lightbearer now. She instantly grabbed a rusted sidearm off the table and aimed it at the Warlord across the table.

He simply laughed again. “Don’t think you’ve grown the balls to do anything more with that than you and your scout earlier,” he said. “And if you had a change of heart like that, I’d think you’d be trying to shack up with us for good. We’re in the same standoff again. Like déjà vu.”

The Warlord leaned forward a fraction of an inch, to which the lightbearer responded by flicking off the safety on her pistol. “Things are different now. No one’s got a gun trained on me. I’m free to shoot you as I please.”

“I don’t mean whatever tactical strategy you have,” the Warlord said. “Cards on the table: I’ve killed Risen. Maybe a few dozen. And I know how that sounds. Twisted. Evil. That I’m turning on my own kind.

“I’m simply protecting my way of life. But that’s an ideological debate you don’t seem interested in having. So know this: it’s a lot harder to kill a Risen, or even a human, than one of those Fallen. They’re not like us, so there’s a cognitive dissonance. That you’re not doing a bad thing.

“So believe me; I know you can’t kill me. Well, you might be able to. But you won’t. And that has nothing to do with how I can fight back, and everything to do with what I am. I’m just like you.”

The lightbearer fidgeted. “You said yourself I’m not human. That I’m Awoken. Whatever that means.”

Bruce shrugged. “Same flesh and blood. Hell, from what I gather, your kind were humans back in the day. But that’s not my field of expertise.”

There was an awkward silence as both Risen waited for the other to make some kind of move. Bruce spoke first. “Tell me. How’d you slip past my guards?”

“It’s still dark, and you haven’t trained them nearly well enough to stay alert one hundred percent of the time. Had to knock out a couple right outside my tent, but all things considered, very easy.”

“So you haven’t even killed a human yet. And you expect to just off me with ease.”

The lightbearer grit her teeth. “They’re innocent enough. You’re clearly not.”

To this, Bruce could only smile. It was unnerving. “You haven’t spent enough time with ‘em. If I’m some evil bastard in your eyes, they sure are too. But that’s how you survive out here.”

“Out here,” the lightbearer retorted, “And not the City. Like the rest of humanity.”

“Better getting your hands dirty to protect your freedom than become some brainwashed slave.”

“Why does he keep comparing defending the Traveler and to slavery?” Bluejay exclaimed within the lightbearer’s head.

“There’s a lot of blood on those hands,” the lightbearer responded to Bruce.

“You get used to it. And don’t act like you were some bastion of perfection last night. Couldn’t even go head to head with a Fallen captain. That wasted time might’ve cost a couple of my people’s lives. Who knows?”

The insinuation made her blood boil. Within her, the self-doubt and worrying she had carried earlier for her failure turned to fury. “How dare you,” she spit back, “When you executed your own man on the spot.”

“And there you go, pretending to care again,” Bruce retorted. “You see me kill a person, and assume that I’m the bad guy. You don’t even know his name.”

“I don’t need to know his name to know that you murdered him.”

“Murdered. Again with the word ‘murdered’.” The Warlord’s eyes grew angrier, his face tightening. “I know my people, inside and out. I try to protect them, but I apply them how they ought to be applied. Because I know better. Not because I’m a Risen and am inherently better than them or something, but because I’ve been at this fight for longer than many have been alive.

“That one’s name was Alan. And he was insubordinate. He lied to me on numerous occasions, he was obsessed with trying to appear authoritative with no ground to stand on. And he was a bad shot.

“If I deem one of my citizens more of a liability than an asset, that’s my cross to bear. Think what you want. But he caused more deaths than me killing him once can absolve. So don’t lecture me on people you don’t know. I know what they’ve done. What they deserve.”

“You deserve the same treatment,” the lightbearer said, “But I’m trying to be bigger than that. Be better than you, assassinating other Risen.”

“So you want me to allow you to leave? Walk on out, and make your merry way to the City?” The Warlord shook his head. “That story doesn’t end there. I let you walk, you’d just come back for me. All those Risen I’ve killed, I’ve never been the first to throw a punch, fire a shot. They were all sent by the City or their Iron Lord predecessors to cut me down.”

“Bullshit.”

“If not, then why are you still alive?” The Warlord nodded, happy with himself for bringing up that fact. “If I just killed off other Risen indiscriminately, you would’ve never walked out of here alive in the first place.

“But you’re not going to this time.”

The Warlord kicked the massive table up, sending it up on its end. The guns, lantern, map, and other equipment was sent hurtling down atop the lightbearer, who dodged away. Bruce already had his assault rifle transmatted into his hands, spraying bullets throughout the tent from behind cover. The lightbearer zipped behind the other table before making a break for the tent’s exit. Her agility outmatched the Titan’s blind fire.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered.

“Well that didn’t go completely according to plan!” Bluejay complained from within her head.

The lightbearer ducked under another volley of bullets before rolling through the doorway into the open. “Yeah, I didn’t even get the chance to offer my ultimatum.”

“To be fair, it was kind of a longshot that he’d just let you take his people if you asked yet another time.”

“Eh. Couldn’t have hurt to try!”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Bluejay concluded. The lightbearer bounded to her feet, stray bullets from within the tent still whizzing out the doorway and cutting through the leather near the opening. Outside, the sun was just about to rise in the east, hidden behind the tree line bordering the clearing but casting an orange gradient onto the rest of the sky.

It was too bad she couldn’t appreciate nature in that moment. She was kind of in the middle of something.

The gunfire had stirred the rest of the guards to gather around the command tent. Maybe a half dozen had shown up in a firing line, with a crowd of people beginning to gather behind them. The lightbearer dodged their slow rifle fire easily, sprinting around the corner of the tent.

She’d be out of sight, but only for a few seconds. Time to set up her next strike. She looked up at the tent’s canopy above her, finding a spot where one of the wooden rafters held up the cloth. Maybe a fifteen foot jump from the ground.

Good thing she had two.

The lightbearer leapt from the dirt, and at the apex of her trajectory, jumped again. It was a weird sensation, as if her feet had found solid ground in midair. Bluejay had explained the process to her, but it still felt odd.

No time to think about how strange the abilities of the Light could be. She landed on the wooden beam, crouching down atop the tent. From here, she could see Bruce’s guards, shuffling around after losing sight of her. It was still dark enough that she wasn’t easily visible up here. Though she supposed it was a bit of a gamble that they wouldn’t be checking atop the tent anyways.

Now she felt like a Hunter. Pistol in one hand, knife in the other, stalking her prey from above, shrouded in the dark. The shooting had stopped, and Bruce marched out of the tent, clumsily reloading his auto rifle. “Where the hell did she go?”

He was met with silence. “You all are god damn useless sometimes,” the Warlord shouted. The lightbearer smiled at his aggravation. She was getting to him. But she’d have to keep wearing him down.

The Warlord was about to bark another order to the crowd when she descended onto his shoulders. The lightbearer plunged knife into one of the joints of his armor on his left arm. Bruce howled in pain, bucking like a wild bull before the lightbearer pushed off his back. She pulled the knife out with her, doing a backflip in midair before landing on her feet.

“There’s more where that came from!” she said excitedly. “Hell, I don’t even know what I’m capable of. Guess you’ll have to find out!”

The Warlord grunted, massaging his arm as his ghost healed it. “What do you think your agitations will cause? I’m immortal. I can do this all day.”

“Well then, we oughta just fight. One on one,” the lightbearer said. “You say you’re some Guardian killer? Let’s see what you got.”

Bruce frowned, his ghost disappearing once more. At the same time, his helmet apparated around his head. “I kill you once, I kill your ghost. I don’t care how long I have to wait. What’s your endgame?”

“Cards on the table,” the lightbearer started, echoing his words, “I can kill a Risen. I’m here to protect people, and you’ve got less humanity than the Fallen we killed. I’ll have no problems offing you. Physically or mentally.”

“You say that, but you don’t know,” the Warlord said. He raised an iron clad fist, sweeping it in the air towards his citizens. “All of you, stay back. This is for us to decide.”

“Why not give them the choice? Let them leave with me if they choose to? Perhaps all of your accusations of Guardians being slaves is projection. Maybe you’re afraid of losing those that will bend over to help you to avoid being trampled on.”

“Like I said, I know better than them,” Bruce said. The two were pacing around each other in a circle now, Bruce cracking his fists without losing grip of his rifle, the lightbearer twirling her knife in anticipation. “Because I’ve been around longer than them. Longer than you. I’ve seen things. I know what the world’s like. So I know how to protect them.”

“And yet, you failed last night,” the lightbearer said back, her tone venomous.

“As much a failure on my part as yours. No matter what you tell yourself. We’re the fighters. It’s a casualty of war.”

“We’re talking in circles,” the lightbearer mused. “So I guess, final decision? You won’t let me leave with everyone who wants to come.”

“No,” the Warlord growled.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

The lightbearer rushed towards him, sliding on approach as the Warlord raised his rifle to fire. She shot his hand on the trigger mid-slide, before founding up to kick him in the chest. She wasn’t powerful enough to send him to the ground, but without balance, the lightbearer swung her knife at his gun. The contact emitted a sharp _clang_ before his rifle fell to the ground.

She kicked it aside before Bruce sent a punch flying right at her. She dodged to her right, feeling the crackling electricity on his fist pass by. He sent another punch her way, which she ducked under.

These swings were erratic, full of arc energy. This wasn’t like their prior fight. The Warlord was striking to kill. She couldn’t get careless.

She dodged backwards, firing two shots at Bruce’s chest. They glanced off, kicking up spurts of dirt from where they ricocheted to. The pistol wouldn’t be too useful against his armor. His shielding was too strong for the sidearm to put any serious dents in.

Luckily, she’d prepared for that. Before the lightbearer could whip out her trump card, Bruce jumped towards her, right fist raised backwards, crackling with electricity. She jumped to her right, sending him missing wide to her left.

The lightbearer caught the chink underneath his chest plate with her knife as he flew by, though. She ran the knife deep along the groove, carving out his armor like peeling off a scab. Before he could react, she ripped the knife out and rolled away.

Bruce only made a pained grunt, nothing akin to his howls earlier. The adrenaline of combat must’ve been kicking in for him too. The bottom of his chest plate leaked a torrent of blood, which he seemed not to be bothered by.

The lightbearer backpedaled before planting her feet about fifteen away. “Bluejay, now!” she yelled, cuing him to replace her pistol with the Strongbow-D. She pumped the action, aiming it at the Titan.

However, Bruce was already charging towards her. In front of him glowed a wall of energy. The lightbearer fired one shot, only to see the pellets bounce meaninglessly off the shielding. She pumped and fired again, only to see the same result.

Bruce leaned in for a shoulder charge, the shield evaporating away as his body became a freight train of arc energy. The lightbearer dove to her left, avoiding the brunt of the contact. Bruce’s force was enough to kick up dust and dirt around her, though, with tendrils of electricity shocking her legs. It only stung for a few seconds thanks to her armor, but it served as a reminder: that was too close a call.

“You’re a fast little rat,” the Warlord panted, doubled over as more blood spilled out. His ghost appeared next to him, fixing him up as he caught his breath. Perhaps she had punctured one of his lungs?

Ultimately, that didn’t mean much. Bruce’s ghost easily staunched the wound with his beam of Light. “You’re fast, but you’re weak. Every cut or bruise you inflict costs me seconds of time and pain. Time I spend growing more tired of your foolishness, your naivety, your insubordination.”

The lightbearer backpedaled again, getting some distance between the two of them. She pumped the shotgun nervously. “Okay, Bluejay,” she whispered. “I think it’s time.”

“You either can’t or won’t kill me,” Bruce bellowed, putting on a show not just for the lightbearer, but all his citizens bearing witness. “You don’t have what it takes to completely, utterly destroy one of your own.

“Allow me to demonstrate, Dakota.”

“That’s not my name!” the lightbearer shouted back.

The Warlord shouted in anger, pivoting his feet as his entire body charged with electricity. He glowed a fluorescent blue, condensing the power of lightning into his mortal form. Once at full power, he started charging towards the lightbearer.

Within her head, Bluejay glitched in anticipation. “You’ve got this, Guardian.”

“Okay.” She had hoped to wear down the Warlord, get him to submit to her, allow her to bring people away peacefully. But he was a killer. Remorseless. Lacking empathy. Nor having the right reasoning. There’s only so much you can do arguing with a brick wall.

Bruce had the force of one, his footsteps thundering against the dirt. He leapt into the air, raising his fists up to strike down on the ground with havoc.

The lightbearer threw aside her shotgun before doubled jumping into the air forward and above him, clearing him by a good ten feet. As he brought his fists down to the ground, pulverizing the spot where she had stood, the lightbearer reached into the air.

She felt the Light burst out of her chest, a fiery power that she could just barely control. Her body erupted into flame, tendrils of fire snaking around her arms while her hair glowed with Light. She closed her hand in the sky, her fingers coalescing around a burning hot hand cannon.

The Gunslinger turned in midair, aiming across her chest at the Titan. He stood, still crackling with power, his silent ghost whipping around to see the Hunter. But it was too late.

Two shots blasted out of her Golden Gun. The bullets left a beam of orange light, puncturing the Titan square in the back. Even all of his arc energy wasn’t enough to stop the two shots, which tore through him like a knife through butter. His body seemed to instantly fade into ash.

The power of the hand cannon had sent the Gunslinger’s aim off, the recoil hurting her arm magnitudes than the fire that encased her. She fired a third shot instinctively, which connected with her last target.

The fire faded from the lightbearer as she landed on the dirt on her side. Her hair was blown back by a wave of Light dispersing in a clear explosion of power.

She had struck the Warlord’s ghost.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this as it comes out, thank you! I'm hard at work starting the second novella called 'These Mortal Quandaries'. Hopefully there's people reading this in the future, in which case, hi! There ought to be a lot more to read by clicking on 'The Crow and the Coyote' series link. Regardless, thank you to everyone who reads this, whenever and wherever you are! Hopefully y'all like this conclusion, I'm excited to be finished up here but moreso to keep writing. Without further ado...

The smoking gun faded away into nothing, leaving the lightbearer grasping at air. Across from her were only simmering embers and ash blowing away in the wind. Bruce was dead. Permanently.

“Guardian,” Bluejay started, “Why did you-”

“I don’t know!” she whispered. Her voice was urgent, wavering thanks to unconcentrated anger and nerves. Why had she shot the ghost? That wasn’t part of the plan. She was just trying to buy time…

She realized her hands were still grasping the echo of the hand cannon. She picked herself up off the ground, keenly aware of the hundred eyes on her. It was hard not to make eye contact with them. The guards stared in disbelief, rifles raised but fingers off triggers. The common people huddled together, afraid.

The lightbearer approached the depleting ash pile. This was all that remained of the Warlord, both his body and armor incinerated entirely. She felt the strangest hint of pride. She’d beaten the bastard at his own game.

But she’d taken it too far. Next to the ash were a few smoldering pieces of Bruce’s ghost’s shell, the eggshell white roasted into a blackened metal. Its core had been obliterated, releasing its Light in the furious wave of energy.

Bluejay finally reappeared next to the lightbearer as she kneeled down to inspect the remains. “We never got to speak to it,” he said, “Maybe they’d just lost faith in his Risen.”

“Maybe it was bullied into silence,” the lightbearer guessed. It felt patronizing, though, to be bad-mouthing the man she’d just murdered. Bruce had been right. Something about killing a human, a Risen, it sat differently than fighting the Fallen. She felt it in her stomach, a sickness that she couldn’t sweat out, an ugly truth she couldn’t quite swallow. She was a Guardian killer. Even if not all Risen were Guardians.

“Bluejay… I’m sorry,” she said. She could barely find her voice, as if her throat were suddenly crushed by the guilt. She had been doing the right thing, surely, but the ghost hadn’t deserved to die. Why had she fired again?

It had to be instinct. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. The Golden Gun had three fiery bullets, and something within her told her she had to fire them all out. Would it have backfired in her face? Would the overflowing Light have been too much for her? She didn’t know.

She was a Hunter. Hunters hunt. They were at odds, and she’d done what she had to. Bruce would’ve killed her otherwise. Right?

Bluejay scanned the broken pieces of the dead ghost. “We ought to take these back to the City. The ghosts who don’t make it… They deserve to be remembered. Even if they made the wrong choice.”

The lightbearer stood from her knees, looking out to the crowd gathered before her. What pride she had felt before had been completely washed away, only shame left. The survivors in the clan saw her and were afraid. Just as they had been Bruce.

But she could still be better than him. She could still convince them.

“Everyone, I’m sorry.” What an awful way to start. She cleared her throat, trying to find the right words to appease the crowd. Maybe it was just her, but it felt like they were on a fine enough edge to rush the lightbearer themselves.

“The Warlord, Bruce… Your leader… He wasn’t fit to lead anyone,” she began. “He led you all on an aimless nomadic quest in the pursuit of some vague idea of freedom, knowingly putting you all in danger so that he’d be free from criticism in the City.

“He killed people indiscriminately. Your own people. Just last night he murdered the one you called Alan. He played judge, jury, and executioner in an instant, taking away a life like it meant nothing to him. He brought you all to this point of indefensibility, leaving how many of your people to die at the hands of the Fallen last night?

“Humanity’s supposed to be something greater. I’m new to all this, but I know that. I know that we’re supposed to have ideas that bring us together, not drive us apart. Whether that means keeping you all from the rest of humanity, or dividing you up into rigid classes. You shouldn’t have to be defined by what is drawn on your face more than who you are as a person.”

The lightbearer paused, swallowing another pain of guilt. “I know many of you cared for him. I don’t know to what extent, but he was your leader. But you have to believe me; he manipulated you all. To serve him, answer at his beck and call, let him be the sole voice of authority in this society. People deserve better. You all deserve better.

“I’m sorry for killing him because I didn’t mean to make his death… final. But he wasn’t a good person. Trying to excuse what he’s done to preserve some false memory of him, it isn’t fair to the brothers and sisters you’ve all lost. He deserved justice.”

She searched the crowd for any sign of forgiveness, or inspiration. Instead she found blank faces at best, a growing anger at worst. Still, she pressed on.

“I know that I’m new, that you don’t know me. But you have to trust me. That there’s another life, a better life, waiting for each and every one of you in the City. The Traveler is calling to me, and I don’t intend on ignoring it like Bruce did. I can lead you there. I promise that that will be my duty for all who follow me. To get you to safety, a new, more prosperous life.”

The crowd remained silent. The lightbearer felt the pain of their collective gazes. For all the horrible things the Warlord had done, these people had been indoctrinated to follow him. Maybe they wouldn’t listen to her…

“You took him from us.” One of the guards stepped forward, his rifle hanging aloof at his side. The lightbearer recognized him as one of her original captors, Gaive. When she’d met him, he had seemed to constantly be trying to appear intimidating. Now, he simply looked defeated, the only trace of anything other than sorrow in his eyes. They were dark, angry, strained.

“You left us no choice, but to follow you,” he continued, slowly raising his voice. “You, who struck down our leader, in the name of justice.”

“He was a killer!” the lightbearer retorted, coming off more aggressive than she intended. She reluctantly softened herself “It was justice for all the lives he cost. Innocent lives or otherwise.”

“The City brand of justice,” Gaive continued. Though the soldier was standing in defiance, he still left a healthy ten meters between himself and the lightbearer. “How many times have the Guardians come to kill him, other Risen tried to kill him? And he stood strong through all that.”

Gaive threw his rifle on the ground, landing near the Strongbow-D the lightbearer had tossed aside. “I won’t follow someone who acts before thinking. We _believed_ in him. We know life is hard, but _we believed_ he could protect us the best anyone could. And you slaughtered him for dissent.

“You haven’t even been to the City, newborn,” Gaive continued, his words finally touched with an authentic hatred. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Bruce told us stories. We saw their assassins. Why would we follow you?”

He spat on the ground near the rifle before turning around and marching away. The crowd drifted away in solidarity, going back to their tents to pick up the pieces of their lives.

The lightbearer choked up. “People! _Please!_ I’m trying to do the right thing!”

There was no one answer, just the uproar of commotion as the angry mob spread apart. The lightbearer felt useless. She’d only driven them away, and if she couldn’t protect them… she’d failed.

“Bluejay,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

She held out a hand for her ghost to appear in. Its blue eye seemed dimmer than usual.

“I’m no Guardian,” she muttered. “I killed the first Risen I met. Maybe he deserved it. But…” She sniffed, trying to hold back confused tears. “It wasn’t the right choice.”

The ghost hung its shell, but turned around in surprise. It expanded into a small ball of light, showing surprise. “Maybe, maybe not. But look!”

The lightbearer rubbed her eyes with her suit’s sleeve before looking up. There were maybe a dozen people still, waiting with her. Waiting for her command.

She released a nervous laugh in response. Most of them were various servants she hadn’t met, or didn’t recognize, judging by their green tattoos. But there were a few she knew. An older woman who’d been working inside the Warlord’s command tent. The man who’d been dragged out of the tent she’d been sleeping in. A younger girl with blue tattoos who’d been working the horses. And one of Bruce’s guards, still holding his rifle.

The guard marched forward to the lightbearer, slinging his rifle over his back. She recognized him as the other soldier who’d originally found her, the one who’s name she’d never caught.

“How far is it to the Last City?” he questioned.

The lightbearer turned to her Bluejay. “On foot? Maybe a year’s worth of travel, between getting to the south end of this continent, crossing the Engulfed Sea, and then all the way down the City amidst the Andes…”

“So we need a ship.” The lightbearer folded her arms as she listened.

“Yes,” Bluejay confirmed, nodding his shell. “Are any of you experienced in piloting?”

A slow murmur throughout the small crowd. “No,” Bluejay concluded.

“So, we need one _big_ ship,” the lightbearer said.

“Affirmative,” Bluejay replied, spinning his shell as he thought. “Which means our best bet would be getting to the nearest Golden Age metropolis and seeing what’s left over from before the Collapse.”

“And that is?”

“Old Chicago.”

The soldier grunted. “That’s almost a month of travel time from here in the Badlands. We just made that trip.”

“Well, it’s our best bet,” Bluejay said.

“We’ll be heading further into House of Scar territory. They’ll have more than just a handful of skiffs.”

“And we’ll have a Gunslinger.”

“And all of you!” the lightbearer interjected. She looked over the worn faces. Whether she was ready for it or not, she was their Guardian now. “We stick together, we can fight off what Fallen come for us. Smaller numbers, easier to hide. We can do this.”

A few of the dozen people nodded reassuringly. The lightbearer broke a smile, finally feeling like she was living up to her duty. Now she just had to follow through.

“We leave in an hour, heading due east,” she announced. “Get your things together, and meet at the east edge of camp.” She paused, biting her lip. “And… say your goodbyes.”

The crowd dispersed, heading off to pick up their belongings for the journey. The soldier stayed behind though. He extended his right hand, worn with callouses and blisters. “I never caught your name,” he said.

The lightbearer bit her lip for a moment. “Nadiya,” she said, grasping his hand.

“Tom,” he said. He folded his arms after the shake, studying her. “I kinda knew her. Our parents were friends, before they were, well…”

“Oh,” the lightbearer said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend-”

Tom held up his hand, smiling sheepishly. “Please. I’m sure she’d be honored. She was always one of the kindest people I knew. Hard to find out here.”

The lightbearer nodded. “Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Bruce was always a selfish leader. He didn’t care that his actions would bring us into mortal danger. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.

“I’ve been part of this caravan for almost two decades, since I was a little kid. I always figured, y’know, I would bolt from this forsaken group in an instant. But, I never had anywhere to go. How’s a kid gonna get to the City on his own?”

His eyes shone suddenly, the faintest tears of joy welling up. “So thank you. The others that stayed, they’re probably thinking the same thing.”

Tom averted his gaze, looking over the rest of the camp. “The rest of ‘em? I guess Bruce got to them more than I thought. Maybe they’re too prideful to accept your help. Maybe they actually gave a shit about that totalitarian. But if they’re not willing to follow you, they were doomed from the start.”

He shrugged his shoulders and began to turn away. “I’ll see you in an hour. I hope we make it.”

Bluejay whistled a low chime. “You see? There’s hope for some of these people yet.”

“Yeah.”

The ghost turned back to his chosen. The fire in her eyes seemed a little dulled. Not from a lack of strength, but a change in spirit. The confused inferno of a newcomer had faded into a controlled flame, a kinder one. A guiding light.

“Nadiya?”

“Yeah, Bluejay?”

“I hope we make it too.”

Her smile curled into a frown. Not sadness. Reality. “Yeah.”

* * *

Nadiya wiped the sweat from her brow. They’d found a pave road leading out of the Badlands a couple days before, making the path forward easier. The sun’s blazing heat was still strong in these late summer days, though. However cracked and partially overgrown the ancient pavement was, it still sucked up heat.

That was the only thing annoying Nadiya. She barely felt tired from almost a week of walking, there’d been no sign of the House of Scar that entire time, and the small group had had no trouble hunting or finding water sources. But the heat was almost unbearable. Bluejay had mentioned some of the more advanced armor sets for Guardians had built-in temperature regulation systems or even local atmospheres. It was a far cry from her current outfit.

Even that made her more privileged than the rest of the small group. Bruce’s refugees were used to this nomadic life, so they seldom complained. But Nadiya couldn’t help but notice the ripped and thin clothes, worn down faces, and reddened skin. The sun couldn’t burn her. Nothing could.

Not because she was a Gunslinger, but because of her complexion. It was still pretty damn hot, but her pale blue remained seemingly untouched by the sun. Perks of being Awoken, she supposed.

Some of the people had asked her questions. She rarely had the answers for them, but Bluejay was happy to oblige. How many people live in the City, how long ago did the Collapse happen, why was the Traveler now dormant?

Nadiya listened just as closely to her ghost as the people did. She was getting her bearings, for sure, but she still felt ignorant. Although the questions she was too embarrassed to ask were a little more specific.

How would _she_ take down a Fallen skiff if it were firing on them, for instance? She had no clue. As the others had packed their belongings, Nadiya and Bluejay had raided the command tent for a few items. She kept the Strongbow-D, as well as the sidearm she’d used in her fight with the Warlord. Beyond that, she’d only taken some glimmer and armor materials she could use to craft. She didn’t understand what plasteel or sapphire wire were, but Bluejay had insisted on collecting it.

The rest, she’d left for the mass of people not following her. The map, most of the weapons, their cooking equipment and obviously tents. The rest of her refugees carried a bag of supplies each, seldom more than personal mementos and some clothing.

Thanks to Bluejay, their group had a dramatically lighter load than they’d been used to under Bruce’s command. Bluejay only had so much storage space within his magical transmat cloud, but inside he carried materials for a spitfire, sleeping bags for the whole group, and some scavenged first aid materials.

That was pretty much it. The rest of the group had no more than a knife as a weapon (if anything) besides Tom, who led the caravan aside Nadiya and her ghost. The stable girl, Annie, rode atop the single horse they’d taken for themselves from the couple dozen the camp had. It was a brown mare with matted fur and worn down horseshoes, but Nadiya couldn’t help but smile when looking at the creature. It was remarkably pretty in a way she couldn’t describe.

Whatever other weapons Bruce had had were destroyed with his ghost, their reconstruction data lost forever. That meant no rocket launcher or other handy weapons the Warlord had crafted for himself, and his auto rifle had been severely damaged by Nadiya’s knife.

Speaking of which, her knife sat in a sheath of her own, secured tightly on the left side of her belt. Bluejay had gone off on his own for a few minutes after they’d finished scavenging and had come up with the captain’s sheath, remodeled with some glimmer tampering to clip onto Nadiya’s outfit.

Now she had less than a second of draw time between reaching for the blade and stabbing in front of her. Bluejay explained it away as a Hunter parlor trick, but it still shocked Nadiya to see how fast her reflexes were.

“River up ahead,” Tom said, interrupting Nadiya’s thoughts. The group was almost uniformly quiet during their long, arduous marches during the day, but an excitement broke out between the refugees when given an opportunity to stop and rest. In this case, a fresh water source.

The river was a few dozen meters wide, an old stone bridge lightly arching over. “We ought to only stop for ten minutes or so. Can’t lose more time than we did hunting this morning,” Nadiya announced.

It was reason enough to celebrate for the others, who sped ahead towards the river to cool off their faces and drink. Tom gave the lightbearer a thumbs up before heading off himself, pulling a canteen out of his bag.

“You’re doing good,” Bluejay said quietly once the others were out of earshot.

“I think you mean _doing well_.”

“No.” The ghost chirped annoyedly. “I mean you’re doing a good thing.”

“Well, that’s kinda been the goal here,” Nadiya quipped, slyly smiling at her partner.

“Hm.” The two stared at their caravan of people, frolicking in the water or sitting to idly chat. Nadiya felt for them. They were taking this so well, so strongly. But she found it hard to reach out. Not that she was better than them, just that she was… different.

“Hey,” Bluejay said, perking up. “I made you something. I think you’ve been ready for it since we left Bruce’s camp, but I didn’t want to upset you or anything.”

Nadiya narrowed her eyes. “Okay…”

“Alright, close your eyes!” She did as her ghost asked, suddenly feeling something drape across her shoulders, tickling her halfway down the back of her legs.

“Okay! Open!”

Nadiya turned in a circle, inspecting the cape. It was mainly white, the same bleached color that her armor was made of, with a strange symbol in the middle threaded with a dark green. It looked strangely familiar.

“Every Hunter needs a cape. Or a cloak. Or a poncho. Whatever you want to call it, I guess. Whatever it is, it’s a lot nicer than those side towels some Titans wear…”

Bluejay circled around Nadiya as she inspected it. The cloth felt incredibly soft to the touch, and yet she could even try stretching it to pull the threads apart. “I used most of the glimmer we got from Bruce’s stores to craft it myself. But that’s not really the special part. See the symbol?”

Nadiya inspected it, trying to figure out where she knew the shape from. Six offsetting rhombuses lined up in two connecting columns. And the fabric. Both answers seemed hidden in the back of her mind.

“It’s an aspect of blood. The logo of the City’s Hunters, representing your class. As if the cloak was enough to distinguish you.”

The Gunslinger smiled and pet her ghost on the head softly. “Thank you so much, Bluejay. But, why would I have been upset?”

Bluejay’s eye dimmed, seeming more reserved. “Well, when we separated briefly before leaving, I collected Nadiya’s – the first Nadiya’s – bandana. I figured, if you were naming yourself after her, what better way to honor her memory.”

The lightbearer’s eyes welled up, stroking the symbol softly with her fingers. A permanent reminder of the innocent woman. Nadiya’d figured out why she’d chosen the name instinctively. She figured no one person was too small to be remembered. And that no person was incapable of bravery, no matter what it seemed.

She hoped to live up to that.

The Gunslinger and her ghost stood silently for a few more minutes, watching the rest of the group finish up. They had to cross the bridge, and still had another four hours or so before sundown. They could still cover plenty of ground on the way to Old Chicago.

“Nadiya?”

“Yes, Bluejay?”

“I’ve been thinking. Well, wondering. You’re holding up okay? After Bruce?”

Nadiya pursed her lips. “Sure.”

“It’s just, knowing you’ve killed a Risen. I don’t want you to think that’s normal.”

“I know, Bluejay,” she replied, a hint of exasperation.

Her ghost picked up on it though, zipping over to face her with a little more urgency. “I know you’re good at heart. I know you think that, I know you know that, I know _I_ know that. But I need you to promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

“Promise that you’ll never turn. That you’ll never abandon the City, abandon humanity.”

“Bluejay…”

“Promise!”

Nadiya was taken aback, flinching a little bit. But she knew she was good, too. Faithful. Loyal. Strong. And honest. “I promise, Bluejay.”

The ghost flittered a little bit. Nadiya couldn’t tell if he was happy or not.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much again for reading! I'm excited to share more soon. While 'The Guardian Fallacy' was largely an exploration of what it means to be a Guardian, 'These Mortal Quandaries' will address (as you can guess from the title) what it means to die. Tell me what you think!


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